


A Hard-Won Peace

by patheticfangirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Brokebacknatural, Castiel Watches the Bees, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Christmas, Dean Winchester Being an Idiot, Dean Winchester Can't Say "I Love You", Dean Winchester Does Karaoke, Dean Winchester Likes Taylor Swift, Dean Winchester Says "I Love You", Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Drunk Castiel (Supernatural), Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Everyone's a Supporting Character Except Dean, Heaven, Hurt Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester Gets Yeeted Out of Heaven, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, LARPing, M/M, No Beta We Die Like My Faith in Andrew Dabb, Pie, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Finale, Post-Season/Series Finale, Quote: But still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester., Repressed Feelings, Sharing hobbies, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Godzilla vs. Mothra, Truth or Dare, the Dean Cave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 28,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patheticfangirl/pseuds/patheticfangirl
Summary: “Afterlife” no longer means forgetting what happened during life.In Heaven, Dean is tormented by peace and freedom until he reunites with an also-struggling Castiel. Together, they work through issues they couldn’t leave behind, hoping to find something resembling happiness.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 96
Kudos: 240
Collections: Supernatural Finale Fix-Its





	1. In My Time of Dying

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write 25,000+ words just to yeet John Winchester out of Heaven? Maybe. I wanted Dean to get his happy ending, and I have *opinions* about John, so here we are. I’m the same username on tumblr if you want to come hate him with me.
> 
> Chapter titles are Zepp Traxx and Bey Bops.

At first, Dean left hash marks on his bedroom wall. Deep scratches that broke through paint and hit drywall. One scar for each day. But he soon found that what had been a day for him could have been an hour, week, month, year, or decade for someone else. Time in Heaven was that fluid.

The passage of time also varied with emotion. As on Earth, it went by more quickly for souls at ease. For Dean Winchester, each moment since his arrival had dragged, almost to the point of torment. One bottle after another marked the passage of time as he drank and waited in a facsimile of the bunker that was much colder than he’d remembered.

There were things Dean wanted to experience, sure, but almost none he wanted to experience alone. He needed his brother, and he needed Cas. He needed Cas more than anything. But the angel just had to go and tell Dean he loved him, and Dean had no idea what to do with that information. So he needed someone he could figure it out with. He needed Sam, but Sam wasn’t dead yet. Dean was grateful for that, but gratitude didn’t ease his loneliness.

Bobby told Dean he was worried about him, more than once. Dean brushed him off each time. He loved Bobby, but Bobby was not someone Dean felt like confiding in. Not on this one.

He prayed to Jack, a number of times. Just to see how he was doing. Just to have some company. Jack was someone he could count on to take anything he said at face value. But there was never a visit, never even a response. Dean worried about that. He worried they’d given Jack too much power and too much responsibility. He worried that his son was in trouble. He worried that the new God was dead. He piled all of that onto his ever-growing pile of fears and resentments. Eventually, he gave up praying.

Some time after making his eighth mark on the wall, with no concept of how long he’d be waiting for his brother, Dean made the decision to visit his parents’ house, the one that once stood in Lawrence. It now stood, like everything else, exactly as far away as he wanted. For now, that was a short drive. 

He set out from the bunker knowing the visit would probably turn out to be a mistake, but he wanted to see his mother. 

Bobby set the pick. At Dean’s request, Bobby had invited John to have a drink with him, in the name of reconciliation. When Dean first proposed the plan, Bobby had used the phrase “son of a bitch” half a dozen times and swore he wished he could fire a rifle in Heaven. But in the end, he’d agreed, for Dean’s peace of mind.

When John had gone, Dean approached the front door. He tidied his hair by running a hand through it, and brushed his sleeve for nonexistent dust. Before he could even knock, Mary opened the door and roped Dean into a tight hug. The first physical touch he’d had since he was dying. His eyes welled.

“Hey, mom,” Dean said. 

“Dean,” Mary said. “I’ve missed you.”

Dean let go and glanced over her shoulder into the living room, unable to believe his plan had worked. “Is dad here?”

“No, he’s out with Bobby. Do you want to call for him?”

Dean replied with an emphatic “No.”

In every moment since a certain love confession, Dean lived at least partially in a state of panic. That his father wasn’t there lessened it, ever so slightly.

Dean hugged Mary again, squeezing her tighter than before. “I’m sorry about how everything ended back on Earth—”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I left you alone with a nuclear toddler—”

Mary pulled away from the embrace. “The toddler defeated Chuck and saved the world.” She gestured into the dining room. “Now come in.”

Dean followed her inside. “I should have been there to protect you.”

Mary took a seat at the table and stared into her son’s eyes. “Not that you’ll believe me, but that has never been your responsibility.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean also took a seat. He glanced around the room at empty beer bottles, strewn about. It reminded him of himself, and he grimaced. “Are you… Is everything going okay here?”

“With me and John? Yeah…Of course.”

Dean swallowed. Somehow, he didn’t believe her.

Mary leaned in closer to her son. “Dean… You seem off. Is there something you need to talk about?”

“...Yeah. There is.”

Mary thought about coffee, and two mugs of it appeared. She slid one to Dean. 

“What’s going on?” Mary asked.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here,” Dean said.

“You mean in Heaven?”

Dean nodded. “Sure.”

“Anything you want,” Mary said.

“Right…” Dean trailed off.

“I get it,” Mary said. “You’ve never been able to put your wants and needs first. Now you can, and you’re not sure what that looks like?”

Dean took a sip of coffee. “Not exactly. I have some idea… I just don’t know if...” 

He couldn’t finish his thought, let alone articulate it. Dean didn’t know what he’d hoped to accomplish. Mary had never been there the way he wanted her to be now, and it was unfair to expect her to be.

For her part, Mary wanted to try. “You don’t know if...what?”

Under the table, Dean balled a fist, as if he could squeeze a confession out of himself if he just pressed hard enough. “It’s something Cas said…”

“Tell me.”

The roaring engine of an Impala sounded, just outside the front door. Not Dean’s Impala. Another copy. Dean’s heart sank and his stomach tightened as he stared at the entryway.

“...You know what? It’s nothing,” he said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Dean faked a smile. “Forget I said anything.”

“Okay…” Mary eyed her son with suspicion. Dean had tensed up and sat rigid in his seat, an unfamiliar look on his face. Nervousness maybe, or fear? In appearance, Dean looked every bit the middle-aged man he’d died as, but in that moment he had the posture of a guilty teenager. 

John Winchester stormed into the room, ranting about Bobby to no one. “...Like he ever raised any kids, the son of a bitch…”

“I take it that didn’t go well,” Mary said.

“No.” John looked toward the table and acknowledged Dean’s presence with a slight nod. “You’re already dead, huh? Well, hopefully your brother is doing something with his life.”

Dean spoke, almost inaudibly. “I did something with...” 

“What?” John asked.

“Nothing,” Dean said.

“John,” Mary warned.

John moved toward Dean, not for a hug, but to go to the fridge and grab two beers. He tossed one to Dean, then cracked open his own and took the seat at the table farthest from his son.

Dean stared at the bottle. El Sol. It was absolute dogshit. He opened it and chugged.

Mary tried to cut the tension. “I was just telling Dean about some of the things people do to pass the time here—” 

John ignored that, and looked at his son. “How’d it happen?”

“Vamp nest.” Dean couldn’t hide his shame. 

John shrugged his shoulders. “Were you protecting your brother or what?”

“No. I just… lost.”

John shook his head. “Well, it has to happen to everyone eventually. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed.”

“Me too,” Dean said. He finished the beer.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Mary said.

John didn’t believe that, and neither did Dean. They sat in silence for what felt like forever.

Finally, Dean stood up. “Yeah, uh…Good to see you, but I was just getting ready to leave…” 

“You’ve got better places to be?” John asked.

Mary tried to help her son. “Dean has a date.”

Dean looked at her and shook his head. 

“Really?” John asked.

“Yeah,” Dean lied. 

“Who is she?”

That question seemed innocent on the surface, but Dean knew it wasn’t. He hurried toward the door. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

When he was safely inside the Impala, Dean fell back into the seat, hard. He let out a deep, uneasy breath. He reached for the steering wheel, his hands shaking. 

“That went well,” he muttered in bitterness. This was some Heaven, all right.

Dean left and didn’t return. He didn’t go anywhere at all. He retreated to the bunker, surrounded himself with alcohol and pie, and wasted time—however many bottles worth.


	2. Ramble On

Dean saw no reason to leave until Sam arrived in Heaven, some hours, days, weeks, or months later. He found out it was happening when one dickbag angel or another beamed a location into his brain and told him to go immediately to receive a new arrival. Dean couldn’t think of anyone else who’d want him as their guide, so he knew it had to be his brother. 

First came a welcoming hug and a brief explanation that they really were in Heaven and that, yes, Dean had checked. Yes, he was sure it wasn’t really Hell. It wasn’t a scheme by Chuck or Lucifer or anyone else. It was what Bobby called “the Heaven they deserved.”

With formalities out of the way, the brothers stepped into the Roadhouse, to grab drinks and discuss Sam’s life. It wasn’t overly crowded, but there were always a few souls inside. It was an essential stop for those who traveled Heaven by road. That’s the way the Harvelles liked it. Meeting people, serving drinks. The family business.

“Look who the cat dragged in,” Ellen said.

Sam thought that was about him, until Ellen continued.

“I was starting to think you were avoiding me, Dean.”

Dean put on a charming smile. “Me? Avoid you? _Never_.”

Sam and Dean sat down at a table, and Ellen set two beers in front of them.

“Thanks,” the brothers said at once.

“Welcome back, boys,” Ellen said.

Sam stared wistfully at Ellen, and Dean waved a hand in front of his face. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just realized how much Ellen looks like Isabella.”

“Who?”

“Oh, uh… Dean’s wife.”

Dean blinked a few times as the hamster wheel in his brain spun in circles.

Sam clarified. “My son, Dean.”

“You named your kid after me?” Dean asked.

“Well, yeah.”

“That’s sweet. Also a little weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Sam insisted.

“It’s a little weird, Sammy.”

Sam shrugged. “If you were in my place, what would you have named your son?”

Dean scrunched his face and thought for a moment. “Eliot.”

“Because of _The Untouch_ —”

“Because of _The Untouchables_ ,” Dean confirmed. “Damn right.”

Sam sighed. “Anyway, he’s great. You’re gonna love him.”

Dean took a drink, then smiled. “I’m sure I will.” 

Sam doted on Eileen, and his memories of her, from their first date after her resurrection to their wedding, to reforming the Men of Letters with her and turning it into a powerhouse with its own legion of trained hunters, to raising the other Dean and living out middle and old age with her. Their love was beautiful, and Dean choked back his yearning for anything like it. 

Sam also doted on his son. The way he described it, the kid was a supergenius. A true Man of Letters. No surprise there. Dean was interested, but also distracted. He swallowed his inner desires with his beer, just in time to hear all about his nephew’s house, wife, and family. About the time they’d all gone on vacation together to Mexico. One enormous, happy family.

Sam doted on life itself. Dean had never heard his brother so excited to describe anything but serial killers and lore. An entire lifetime’s worth of dogs were each “such a good dog.” The Impala just would not die, even by the time she was transferred to Sam’s grandkids. And, oh, the grandkids. Those were the best things ever, according to Sam. It was also strange to hear from a Sam who looked like a man in his thirties. Apparently in Heaven, everyone looked the age they wanted to, which raised some questions about Bobby choosing to be an old curmudgeon, but this wasn’t the time or place.

Dean reflected on Sam living life to its fullest, while he’d done nothing, and decided—once again—that John had been right. He really was a disappointment, and he wouldn’t be able to hide it. The question that would prove it was coming, any minute—

“So what have you been up to?” Sam asked.

Dean’s stomach sank. “What?”

“What have you been doing all this time?” Sam was actually interested and enthusiastic. That made it so much worse.

“Time’s...different here.” A copout answer.

“Okay, so what have you been doing with it?

Dean couldn’t respond with “nothing,” because that would seem absolutely pathetic. But his reply wasn’t much better. “Uh, you know. Drinking beer and watching movies and… whatnot.”

“ _Dean_.” Sam gave his signature look of disappointment. “Have you been sitting around waiting for me to show up so we could relive your glory days?”

Dean defensively raised his voice. “So what if I have? There’s no monsters to fight up here. What the hell else am I supposed to do?”

Sam rubbed at his temples for a moment, in a way that said _Anything, you idiot_. 

“Have you visited mom and dad?” Sam asked.

“Once,” Dean said. 

“How are they—”

“—I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sam looked into his brother’s reddening eyes. “Dean. You’re not okay.”

Dean chugged half the bottle of beer, then smiled. “Never have been.”

“I know I haven’t been here, and Cas is in the Empty, but you still should have been able to find something to live for. It’s the after _life_. Look around you.”

Dean lowered his head, clearly hiding something.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

“Cas is alive,” Dean said. “Jack brought him back.”

“Okay...You’ve seen him then?” Sam asked.

“No. Not yet.”

“Oh. So you’re avoiding him. That’s healthy.”

“Not exactly.” 

“What then?” Sam asked.

After all the time he spent waiting for his brother to arrive so they could have this exact conversation, Dean wasn’t ready for it. The truth was too difficult to explain, so he settled on his usual self-loathing. “Sam, we’re in _Heaven_. Angels have more important things to do than hang out with loser souls drinking beer.”

“After what—” Sam resisted the urge to smack his older brother. “After what you told me happened in the bunker with the Empty, you think maybe he’d like a follow-up?”

“No. Dude was about to die. I think he expected to never _have to_ follow up.”

“Dean. He said—”

“—I was there. I know what he said.” Dean didn’t need to hear those three words. Not now.

“So you’re just gonna avoid your best friend for eternity because you don’t want to deal with a few minutes of awkward conversation?”

“Drop it, Sam.”

“It’s _Cas_. He can handle a little rejection,” Sam said. “Or—”

Dean’s face hardened. “Drop it.” 

Sam had no intention of dropping it, and every intention of summoning Castiel himself. Right then and there. But lucky for Dean, Eileen wasn’t far behind her husband. Freshly introduced into Heaven by her mother, she stepped into the Roadhouse with a big smile on her face.

“Hi, Sam,” she signed and said at once.

It hadn’t been long for Sam since he’d seen his wife, but it had been a long time since they were both in their prime. His eyes widened and he practically leapt from his chair and sprinted over to pull her in for a hug and never-ending kisses. 

Dean recognized the breadth of life Sam had lived without him. He also saw his escape route. He rose slowly from his seat and walked toward Sam and Eileen. “Hey.” Dean threw on his charming facade and greeted Eileen with a hug. “I’ll, uh… leave you two to take advantage of… well, of each other.”

“You should stay,” Eileen said.

“Nah. You both deserve some kinky, non-wrinkly sex. I know better than to get in your way. It’s Heaven so, uh… I’ll be around. Don’t really have a choice.” 

Dean wasn’t about to sit there and listen to his family reminisce about everything they’d done without him. He slipped past them and headed for the door. 

Sam looked back over his shoulder to speak to his brother. It was a demand. “Go talk to Cas.”

Dean gave weak smile and an even weaker nod.

Ellen shouted to him as he walked out of the bar. “Don’t be a stranger, Dean!”


	3. Heartbreaker

Dean sat on Baby’s hood, in front of the Roadhouse, sipping a road beer. In his mind, the debate that had been turning over since he arrived in Heaven became more and more heated. He’d failed at talking to Mary. He’d failed at talking to Sam. Dean considered that maybe his brother was right and it was time to call for Cas. The deep unease in his gut told him he wasn’t ready, but there weren’t many options. It was this or suffer in silence. 

He wondered at what point it would be awkward that he’d waited so long, and if he’d already passed that point. Eventually, he took his thoughts to their logical conclusion: Fuck it. Time was fluid. He could pretend he’d only been there a few minutes and he hadn’t been dodging the best friend he’d ever had. Or _something_. He’d figure it out. 

Dean looked up at nothing in particular. The stars swirled in the sky, as they always did in Heaven, but the novelty had worn off. He took a deep breath.

“Cas, I need to talk to you.”

There was a brief stillness to everything, then a presence—like every atom in the air around him became charged. After all the time they’d spent together on Earth, Dean simply knew when the angel was near. The hair on his arms stood up, and his soul felt both lighter and warmer. Then he heard a flapping of wings that he hadn’t heard in forever.

“Hello, Dean.” A deep voice came from the driver’s side of the Impala.

“You got your wings back,” Dean noted, as if it were normal to greet someone who loved you so deeply they fell from Heaven with small talk. 

Castiel replied with a weary nod. 

While the angel’s presence was the same as ever, his appearance was not. Dean faced a Castiel who had seen better days. Tousled hair fell over a tired face. A five-o’clock shadow surrounded chapped lips. His signature tie was missing, revealing a half-buttoned dress shirt. Castiel was absolutely worn out. 

Still, something in the angel’s piercing blue eyes seemed hopeful. And even this—Cas at his worst—set Dean’s soul aflame. He wanted to vomit out a thousand words to describe how much he’d missed the best friend he ever had. But he didn’t. Dean set his beer on Baby’s hood, leaned in, and hugged Cas. Not for too long, not too close. 

“It’s good to see you, man,” Dean said. “Uh, since we’re in Heaven...shouldn’t you be ‘the size of the Chrysler Building’ or whatever?”

Castiel tilted his head. “Do you want me to be?”

Dean hesitated. “No. Not really.”

“Neither do I.” Castiel’s eyes darted around as he waited for Dean to say something. 

Nothing but silence. 

It continued long enough to provoke Cas into speaking. “So... what did you want to talk about?”

“Uh…” Dean panicked and drummed up an excuse on the spot. A stupid one. “I think something might be wrong with Sam.”

The fragment of hopeful glimmer left Castiel’s eyes. He crossed his arms and looked away as he muttered to himself. “Unbelievable.”

“Cas?” Dean reached a hand toward his shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

Castiel swatted it away. “You’re unbelievable, Dean.”

“I, uh…”

Castiel spoke harshly. “I sacrificed my life for yours, and _not only_ did you manage to get yourself killed in under a week, but you couldn’t even bother to see me until you needed something.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” Dean shifted, desperately wanting but unable to say something else.

Castiel rolled his eyes, and got back to the only thing he figured he was good for: helping the Winchesters. “What’s wrong with Sam?”

“He’s uh...being cagey. He keeps avoiding me.” 

“You’re kidding me,” Castiel said, out of patience.

Dean shook his head, thinking about how this was the worst cover story ever and hating himself for not just telling the angel that he wanted to see him. “No. It’s weird, right?”

“No, Dean. It’s not weird. It’s math.”

“What?”

“How old was Sam when you died?” Castiel asked.

“Thirty seven,” Dean said.

“And how old did Sam live to be?”

Dean answered apprehensively. “Eighty five.”

“So he lived for forty eight years without you, plus the year you were in Hell, plus the year he was in Hell, plus the year we were in Purgatory, plus the four years he was at Stanford…” Castiel pretended to count on his fingers to get his point across. “That’s thirty years with you and fifty-five without—”

“Okay…” Dean said.

The angel didn’t let him interrupt. “—And that’s without deducting the years he was too young to remember or any of the times he ran away from you and your father. He lived nearly twice as long without you as he did with you.” He dug in deeper. “You just aren’t as important to your brother as he is to you.”

That hit hard, even if the premise that led to it was a lie. Dean, hoisted by his own petard, responded only with a sad look.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said. He opened his trench coat, pulled out an unlabeled bottle of something, and took a deep swig of Heaven’s finest 200-proof liquor. 

Dean squinted. “Are you drunk?”

“Yes. I am.” Castiel took another sip.

“What happened to you?”

“You’re concerned now?” Castiel squinted and unleashed drunken, unhinged sass. “Are you sure there isn’t something else I can help you with?”

“Cas—”

“ _You_ happened, Dean. _You_ got yourself killed and—” 

Dean interrupted, in a huff. “Oh, I’m sorry I _died_.”

“—you got yourself killed and Jack ripped me from my sleep to come here and fix Heaven _for you_. Now he’s gone, and I’m stuck here with a family of angels who hate me and _you_ : the person I died for, who doesn’t want to see me unless I can be of use to him.” 

Dean waited a moment to make sure Cas was done, then spoke softly. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s not?” Castiel asked. “How long have you been here?”

Dean shrugged at the concept of time. “I honestly don’t know.”

“How many times have you seen your brother? Your parents? Bobby?” He gestured toward the Roadhouse. “You just came from there, so I assume you’ve seen Ellen and Jo. Maybe Rufus? Ash?” 

“It sounds bad when you put it that way…”

Castiel stared at him in silence, with a look that said _yes it does_.

“I figured you had angel stuff to do, man. Guarding souls or whatever.”

“You think Jack and I would remake Heaven such that I’m a _servant_?” Castiel spoke in exasperation, the irony of his next statement not lost on him. “Do you need anything else, or can I go?”

Dean wanted to say something that would make Cas stay, but all that came out was an irritated “You can go.”

The angel disappeared, and Dean threw his beer bottle to the ground, where it shattered into pieces. He looked around for something else to break, then remembered one of Heaven’s perks. He willed another bottle into his hand and slammed it to the ground like the first. Then another. Then another. It wasn’t nearly as cathartic as he’d hoped.

“God damn it.” 

He formed a fist and punched Baby’s door. It hurt, so he did it again. He did it over and over again, dropping closer to the ground with each hit. By the time his knees were on the ground, his hands were bloody.

“Fuck.”

Rage broke down into sorrow. Dean came to be seated on the ground, sobbing, certain that his best friend hated his guts. His best friend whom he loved in every way a soul could possibly love. He could curse and hit things all he wanted, but at the end of it he was a coward, and he hated himself.

Dean sat on the ground for a while, his back against the car and his head buried in his hands. Here he was in Heaven, where he was supposed to be at peace, miserable and alone.

To make matters worse, he knew Cas felt the same way. Because of him. He remembered a fight he and Cas had once, long ago. He remembered what the angel had said then.

_I gave everything for you, and this is what you give me?_

Dean drove himself back to the bunker, to drink some more.


	4. Nobody's Fault But Mine

The Dean Cave was unnecessary. Since Dean was the only one living in the bunker, the whole thing was essentially a Dean Cave. But it’s where he went nevertheless, huddled in his little corner of his little corner of Heaven. The bottles always refilled themselves, so Dean didn’t have to get up from the perfectly worn leather recliner where he sat watching _Godzilla vs Mothra_. A comfort movie and comfort food. He told himself it was everything he needed.

He lied, of course. His thoughts drifted. The TV in front of him was the one he, Sam, and Cas had used to visit the world of _Scooby Doo_. The foosball table next to him was the one he’d used to teach Jack and Cas how to play. It was where he and Mary had absolutely destroyed them at the game. The empty recliner next to him had held Cas for countless movie nights.

When Battra died on screen, leaving Mothra behind, tears formed in his eyes. 

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” he said to the fictional creature.

It was at that moment—commiserating with a kaiju over abandonment issues—that Dean realized just how bad a place he was in. He berated himself in his thoughts. This wasn’t even a chick flick, and he was crying. Crying. Over Battra.

Dean was in love. He knew it, and he hated everything about it—especially himself. He didn’t know what else to do but hate it. There were two options again: sit there and suffer, or try talking through it. He took the first option for a long while. 

After a few more drinks and more than enough despair, he gathered the courage to force another conversation. He had to. He felt like shit. More importantly, Cas felt like shit. He might not be able to help himself, but Cas was something he could actually do something about. Helping him was an objective, and having one of those wouldn’t hurt.

“Cas,” Dean spoke into the air. “Get down here.” 

He didn’t mean for it to come out so demanding. He never did. 

When nothing happened, Dean added, “Please.”

Castiel appeared, a bigger mess than before. He stumbled as he landed next to the other recliner. He braced himself against it and snapped, “What now?”

“Heaven sucks,” Dean said.

Castiel scowled. “I can take you back to Hell if you’d prefer.”

“No.” Dean tried to soften his tone. “No. I mean… You and Jack rebuilt it, right?”

“Right.”

“So why is it like this? Why aren’t we happy?” Dean took another drink. “Shit, you could have just made me sleep forever.”

“You _can_ sleep forever if you want.” Castiel took a seat in the second, unworn recliner. His face softened slightly as he looked toward Dean. “It’s like this because you taught me that freedom is preferable to peace, and I still believe it.”

“Yeah, I think I might have been wrong,” Dean said. 

“Maybe,” Castiel said. “Or perhaps we’re defective.”

“Maybe.” Dean certainly felt defective.

Castiel continued speaking through his thoughts. “Maybe I deserve unhappiness for what I did to Heaven. I can’t think of anything you did to deserve eternal sorrow, but…” 

“Yeah, I can think of a few,” Dean said.

They sat for a moment, each worried about hurting the other with their words. It had happened far too many times.

Dean took another sip, then broke the silence. “Cas, about before—”

“Dean, it’s all right. It’s not you I’m angry with. Not really.”

“You should be. I know I am,” Dean said. “The way I treated you and Jack on Earth…” 

Castiel offered a look of sympathy. “You were being hunted down by God. You know we both forgive you for not handling that well.”

“Yeah, I wish you wouldn’t. I wish you’d just be angry.”

“I _am_ angry. Not with you, but I am angry,” Castiel said.

“At who?”

“The universe?” Castiel wondered. “Chuck? Fate? Myself? I don’t know. But we’re both stuck here for eternity, and I refuse to stay angry at you. I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you before.”

Dean raised his voice. “Don’t apologize to me.”

“Or what?”

“Or nothing…” Dean hadn’t meant that as a threat. He softly shook his head. “I’m not mad at you either.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner. I’m sorry I made up some bullshit story to—” 

Castiel tilted his head. “Your concern about Sam? That was fake?”

“Yeah. I wanted to see you.” Knots began forming in Dean’s stomach as he even considered discussing the elephant in the room. “It’s just—”

Castiel recognized Dean’s distress and tried to let him off the hook. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not. When we were on Earth—”

“ _Dean_. Don’t worry about it.”

Dean slammed his drink down on an end table. “I can’t _stop_ worrying about it.” His stomach twisted and turned. His throat tightened. “I keep trying to make it go away. I—”

“What?”

Dean wanted to puke, but he forced words out instead. “I _wish_ I could tell you what you told me. I wish I could tell you that I feel the way you do—”

“I don’t need you to. I mean that.”

Dean leaned over the side of his chair, still nauseated. “Look at me.”

Castiel raised his eyes to meet Dean’s.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Dean said. “It’s that I _can’t_. I just can’t.”

Castiel squinted. “I don’t understand.”

With three words repeating over and over in his mind, tears fell from Dean’s eyes. “I can’t do it. I'm barely keeping it together right now… Just… Stay here. Please. I’m about to lose it counting the damn walls in this place. Can you just… stay?”

Those were the words Castiel needed to hear. “Of course.” 

He stayed. There was nowhere else he wanted to be.


	5. Custard Pie

Most days at the bunker—if you could call them days—began with Dean asking a question. Nothing serious that would make him deal with his feelings, of course. No. It was always something about an experience he and Cas could share now that the sky was quite literally the limit.

Dean poked his head into the angel’s bedroom. 

“Have you ever made pie?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” Castiel said. He looked up at Dean from the bed, where he sat rubbing his fingers to his temples. 

“You’d know if you had—” Dean registered what the angel was doing. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Dean pondered for a moment. “Can you even taste pie?”

Castiel stood. “Yes. Things created here resonate with me in a way Earthly ones don’t. It takes some concentration to understand the flavor as a whole, but—”

“Come on, then.” Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the kitchen.

Castiel went along with it, as always.

The pantry was fully stocked and nothing would ever expire. Dean started rifling through it for flour, sugar, salt, cinnamon, ginger—

“Grab some butter and eggs,” Dean directed.

Castiel stared into the fridge, intimidated. “What kind of eggs?”

Dean, arms full, squinted at him. “You know. Eggs. From a chicken. What other eggs are in there?”

“I started thinking about how many animals’ eggs are edible and, well—” He opened the refrigerator doors wide so Dean could see that the inside was filled with eggs from chickens, ducks, ostriches, turtles, and fish.

“Caviar, huh?” Dean set the pantry items on the counter. “That could make a great pie.”

Castiel didn’t recognize the sarcasm, and he reached for the fish roe.

“No. I’m kidding. Chicken. Please. Cas.”

Castiel set the chicken eggs and butter next to the dry goods.

“Okay, now drum up some apples,” Dean said.

Castiel huffed. “ _Dean_. There are over 7500 varieties of apple.”

Dean brought a fist to his mouth to stifle a laugh, but ended up cackling through it thanks to the strange little angel standing before him. “Go with Golden Delicious.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said.

“Oh, and uh…” Dean snapped his fingers, and they were both in aprons, Castiel’s tied awkwardly around the trench coat he never took off.

“Is this really necessary?” Castiel asked.

“One hundred percent.”

Dean didn’t know the phrase _mise en place_ , but he practiced it well. He treated kitchen prep work like he was disassembling weapons for cleaning, dispensing every ingredient in its proper proportion, and arranging them neatly in bowls. 

“Cut the butter into small cubes,” Dean said. He realized that was vague and corrected himself. “Half-inch cubes.”

While the angel worked at that with a comically oversized knife, Dean whisked together flour, sugar, and salt. He had an idea. 

“Hey, Cas. I’ve seen Lucifer and Jack make things cold… Is that something you can do?”

“I’m not particularly adept at it,” Castiel said. “But yes. To some extent.”

“See if you can’t keep your hands cold and mix those butter cubes into this.” He gestured at the bowl containing the dry goods.

Castiel’s hands glowed as he chilled them and mixed. “Aren’t there machines that can do this?”

“If this were about the pie, I could just imagine a pie. No. It’s about the process. We’re making this thing _by hand_. It’s not like we don’t have the time.”

Dean cracked an egg and leaned in to drop its contents into the bowl. In the process, he brushed against the angel’s chilly arm, and felt the cold run up the length of his own. He eyed the crust as it came together, walked to the sink, and came back with just a bit of cold water. He brushed against Cas again as he poured it into the mixture. His arm wasn’t cold in the sterile way the bunker was cold. It was a popsicle in August. It was diving into a lake. It was touching a snowball with bare hands. Dean felt alive.

“Am I in your way?” Castiel asked.

“No. You’re great. I mean, you’re _doing_ great.” A dough had come together, so Dean reached for some plastic wrap. “Now we’ll just pat that into a disc and toss it in the fridge, which I would like Heaven to have cleared of weird eggs.” He enunciated the last part clearly, as if Heaven needed to hear him. Like magic, the fridge had plenty of room. Dean placed the dough inside and turned to Cas.

Castiel zapped the pastry residue from his hands, and Dean gestured at him. “Come on. You gotta wash your hands. Authenticity.” 

“I’m authentically an angel,” Castiel said dryly. “What’s next?”

“Next we gotta peel all those apples.”

Castiel snapped a finger and the apples’ peels disappeared from existence. He knew that would get a rise out of Dean, and that’s precisely why he did it.

“ _Come on_ ,” Dean said.

“If we can use my powers to keep dough chilled, why can’t we use them to peel apples?” This was genuine curiosity. “Because you thought up the first idea and not the second?”

Dean went into crisis mode, began rambling, and revealed more about himself than he intended. “You’re right. It’s not different, and I’m not trying to be controlling. I just, uh… I like spending time with you and I’m not trying to rush through it.”

Castiel smiled. “Okay.”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. 

From there, they took their time chopping fruit and cooking it down. They also took their time rolling out the dough, which was much more intimate than Dean had ever imagined baking could be. At first, he demonstrated on a separate rolling pin. But Cas kept rolling with angel strength, leaving a tissue-thin bit of dough stuck to the counter. Nothing pie-worthy.

“Don’t move,” Dean said. He’d re-formed a disc and set it in front of Cas. 

He placed the rolling pin on it, then guided Castiel’s hands to either side. He then put his own hands over the angel’s. Dean tried to ignore the electric feeling when they touched. He’d touched Castiel’s hands before, but it had always been in some dangerous scenario or another. This was different. It was comfortable. It didn’t hurt that Cas was literally touching his soul.

“I’m gonna press down and show you how hard to roll,” Dean said. It was the closest he’d felt to another being in as long as he could remember.

Dean lied and told himself he wasn’t just inventing an excuse to touch Cas. He told himself it was all about the crust, which to be fair, turned out great. They eased it into the pie tin, filled it, and began crimping the top crust. 

Once he was in it, Dean never left the angel’s personal space, not that Castiel had ever really understood personal space as a concept. With Dean so close, Cas could feel a difference in his breathing. It was quicker, sharper. And Dean’s face had flushed. Castiel wasn’t an idiot; he knew what these things normally meant. But Dean Winchester was anything but normal.

When the pie was filled and in the oven, Cas stared at Dean for a moment. Then the moment kept going, lasting long enough to make Dean uncomfortable.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, shifting. “You look like you’re gonna either bend me over the counter or murder me.”

“I have a question. It may be insensitive.”

“Shoot,” Dean said.

Castiel looked into his eyes. “Is it me that you want here, or do you just not want to be alone?”

Part of Dean’s mind was screaming at him to answer with affection. The other part—the part that won—panicked and threatened him. He brushed off the question, bolstering his self-loathing in the process. 

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Castiel turned away. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

The pie, at least, tasted good.


	6. Sweet Dreams

Dean’s intentions weren’t the only thing Castiel questioned. The former hunter’s taste in movies was deeply, deeply concerning. The angel knew this, having endured hundreds of movie nights at the bunker on Earth. He’d seen _The Lost Boys_ , which he found okay at best, over forty times. But what Dean proposed this time was a new low.

“Have you ever seen _Porky’s II_?” Dean asked.

“I’m aware of it,” Castiel said. It was one of many things Metatron had ‘gifted’ him.

“But have you seen it?” Dean prodded.

“The reviews say it’s an abomination.”

Dean repeated himself. “Have you _seen_ it?”

Castiel sighed. “I haven’t sat down and watched it, no.”

“Well, that’s about to change,” Dean said. “Popcorn!”

A large bucket of movie theater popcorn appeared at the center of the leather couch that had replaced the two recliners. Dean had claimed he was sick of the recliners and wanted to redecorate, and he may have believed that a little. But subconsciously, he didn’t want to keep Cas at a distance. Not ever again.

Castiel, it so happened, had already seated himself. “ _Dean_. You know you don’t have to shout ‘popcorn.’ All you have to do is concentrate and Heaven will provide.”

“It’s more fun to shout it.” Dean hopped onto the couch next to him. “You should try it.”

Castiel hesitated, then spoke into the air, not quite at a shout. “Milk duds.”

A box appeared in his lap. He acknowledged it with a slight glance. 

“Milk duds?” Dean wondered. “ _Dude_.”

“I like the vegetable oil coating,” Castiel said.

Dean shook his head and chuckled. “You’re so freaking weird.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re perfect.”

Castiel stared at Dean, whose face conveyed absolute terror at his accidental slip.

“Movie’s starting,” Dean said, bailing out of the moment. 

“Dean—” Cas tried to rope him back into it.

Dean shrugged. “It’s starting.”

Castiel could have willed the movie paused. Instead, he reached over, grabbed the remote, and slowly pressed down on the pause button while staring at Dean. For emphasis. 

Dean sighed.

“You don’t have to lie to me to keep me here,” Castiel said.

Dean had been completely convinced that Cas was about to call him out on his half-flirty bullshit. When he didn’t, Dean’s expression and tone drifted toward confusion. “What?”

“I have nowhere else to go. You don’t need to flatter me.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Dean wondered. He thought he’d been pretty clear that he loved Cas, and that he never, ever wanted to talk about it. In his mind, they’d agreed to just chill in Heaven and pretend this was all very normal. Dean was, in a word, an idiot.

Castiel looked into his eyes. “I’m not perfect. I am _deeply_ flawed. You yourself have reminded me of that on several occasions.” 

Dean sank deeper into the couch and exhaled. “Aw, crap.”

“I recognize that my confession to you made you uncomfortable—”

“Cas—”

“What?” Castiel wondered.

“I’m not flattering you, okay?”

Dean took a moment to compose himself, before looking Cas in the eyes. 

“I don’t like that I’ve said things to you… I’ve said things to _everyone_ that were awful…” He trailed off, trying not to dredge up more reasons to hate himself. “What you said before I died made me want to change that, so… Just… Believe me if I compliment you, okay?”

“Would you?” Castiel asked.

“Would I what?”

“If I said you were perfect, would you believe me?”

Dean shook his head. “Hell no.”

Castiel let out an amused snort. “Well, Dean. I only say things I believe.”

“If you believe that, you’re stupid,” Dean said.

“That’s the Dean I know.”

Dean scoffed. “Let’s just watch the movie, man.”

They did. The jokes were objectively terrible, but seeing Dean laugh hysterically at them made Castiel smile, which in turn made Dean think the angel liked the movie. This was the cycle that had led to Dean suggesting bad comedies over and over. 

Halfway through the terrible movie he’d seen dozens of times, Dean fell asleep leaning on Cas’s shoulder. The angel grabbed a throw pillow, set it on his lap, and moved his shoulder to let Dean fall onto the pillow. Dean let out one sleepy groan, then went quiet and still.

Castiel was left confused as to how someone as lecherous as Dean Winchester could fall asleep during a movie with so much nudity, and why Dean would pick such a movie in the first place. He gave up trying to figure it out. His eyes turned from the horrors on the screen to the beautiful human resting in his lap. He placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and watched him sleep, hoping that—at least in dreams—Dean’s soul knew peace.


	7. Countdown

Peace wasn’t an option. Not yet. There was no way Dean’s mind would allow him to have it without putting up a hell of a fight. But there was one thing that Dean thought might make the afterlife a little bit easier to wrap his head around.

“You know what’s weird?” Dean asked, then answered himself. “Not having days.”

“I’ve lived the vast majority of my life without them. Being tethered to a calendar was much stranger to me,” Castiel said.

They stood in the Dean Cave, playing foosball. Cas scored a goal.

Dean retrieved the ball. “Think about it. How old am I?”

Castiel lowered his head and looked up with the self-aware face he made when he attempted humor. “Only as old as you feel.”

Dean’s face turned to stone. “You proud of that one?”

“Pride is a sin, Dean.”

Dean had two thoughts simultaneously: one was complete exasperation and the other was how much he adored this dorky, exasperating angel. He ignored both thoughts, and launched the ball again. 

“How old are you?” he asked.

“I have no age, but for your perspective, somewhere in the millions of Earth years…”

“Okay, bad example. How long do I sleep? Why do I sleep? When is my birthday? When is Sam and Eileen’s anniversary? When is Christmas?” The more questions he asked, the more it felt like an existential crisis.

“Whenever you want to sleep, and whenever you want to celebrate.” Castiel scored again. “I don’t understand why this is such a challenging concept.”

“Because you’re an eternal wavelength of blah blah, yeah. I know.” Dean became frustrated at his own inability to explain the problem, as well as by the fact that he was losing 4-0. “But when you have a limited amount of time, you get used to clocking things.”

“Your time isn’t limited anymore. It doesn’t matter.”

Dean launched the ball again, and gave the table’s handles everything he had. “It does matter.”

Castiel scored again. 5-0. End of game. “Why?”

Dean let go of the handles and threw his hands up in exhaustion. “Because I wanna know how long you’ve been here.”

“Since the dawn of—”

“ _With me_. I want to know how long you and I have been living here in Bryan Adams’ playground.” He thought a little too hard to make that reference, and the opening piano to Bryan Adams’ “Heaven” began to play. “Ugh. _No_.” He stopped it before the singing could begin.

Castiel stared at him with the narrowest eyes he could muster. “I can’t answer that.”

“I know you can’t.” Dean sat down on the couch. “It feels like a while, though. It feels like something to toast to, or...”

Castiel sat next to him. “Dean, do you want to invent a holiday?”

“For us?” Dean wondered. “That’s really gay, man.”

Castiel shot him a don’t-make-me-smite-you look.

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. I just want to celebrate _something_ , you know?”

“Well, what was your favorite holiday?” Castiel asked.

Dean thought about it, and it didn’t take him long to decide. It was Christmas.

“Then let’s celebrate it,” Castiel said.

“We gotta rename it, though. It’s not December 25th.”

Thus began the very first Deanmas. With a thought, the Dean Cave had a window with a perfect view of falling snow. It didn’t make sense, given that the bunker was underground, but it didn’t have to. A roaring fireplace appeared beneath the television, with two red stockings hanging from its mantel.

One corner of the room emptied of miscellaneous effects, and a seven-foot-tall balsam fir appeared in their stead, adorned by a glistening gold tree skirt. Dean thought about clear lights, and the tree became festooned with them. A bit lazy on his part, but no one liked stringing up lights. Next, he thought about tree ornaments, and a box of classic, blue and green glass ornaments appeared in his hands. Another box appeared in Castiel’s.

Dean eyed the tree and began carefully placing ornaments, spacing them apart and making sure to put some around the back. 

Castiel looked at his own box with hesitation. “How do you know where to put them?”

“You don’t. You look at it and put them wherever you think they look good.”

Castiel crowded his ornaments in a small cluster near the tree’s base, a loose interpretation of a carbon atom. By all conventional standards, it looked terrible and left the rest of the tree more bare than it should have been. But by Dean’s standards, it looked great because Cas did it, and because it was hilarious.

“Perfect,” Dean said.

Castiel smiled slightly at that word. “Don’t we need something for the top? A star?”

“How about an angel?” Dean thought up a hokey, fancy robe-wearing, angel-shaped topper and presented it to Cas, seeking his approval. 

Castiel frowned. “I don’t know a single angel who looks like that.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to see your reaction.” Dean wished the angel topper away and generated a star, which he placed atop the tree. “Better?”

“Much better.”

“Merry Deanmas,” Dean said.

“How is Deanmas different from Christmas?” Castiel wondered. “Other than the date.”

Dean counted on his fingers. “For one, I’m not eating gas station food in a hotel room. Two: I don’t wish my dad were here. At all. And three… no gifts. It’s Heaven. Everyone has everything they want.”

“I—” Castiel started.

“And no carols,” Dean said. “Actual good music.” By that, he meant his ‘Top 13 Zepp Traxx,’ which played from a nearby cassette deck.

Castiel didn’t let his objection get side-tracked. “I don’t have everything I want, Dean.”

Dean swallowed, afraid this conversation was going down a path he couldn’t navigate. He pretended to adjust one of the stockings. “I, uh… I thought you were happy to be near me or whatever.”

“I am,” Castiel said. “Happiness is separate from wanting. What I want...what I really want... is for you to be happy.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean motioned to the tree, then at himself. “I’m thriving.” 

“ _Dean_.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean sulked.

“You’re filling our days with activities to avoid talking about something,” Castiel said.

Dean wanted to object, but he couldn’t come up with anything compelling. Cas was right.

Castiel approached and placed a hand on the shoulder where his handprint once lingered. “I don’t understand it. You are _so full_ of excitement and joy and beauty and love, but when I look in your eyes there is still so much pain. And I... I know life was less than kind to you, but that’s over. I don’t understand why you seem so haunted.”

Dean swallowed. “It’s, uh… It’s like the time thing. There’s an adjustment period. You know… You, uh, spend so long understanding things one way, and then there’s this whole new universe.” His chest tightened again. “It’s... different.”

Castiel reached up and touched the side of Dean’s face. The lights on the tree twinkled in the reflection of his damp eyes.

Dean’s lips trembled as he choked out a soft “Cas…” He couldn’t finish his thought.

“You’re safe here,” Castiel said. “Nothing can hurt you but you.”

Even if that were true, Dean was very, very good at hurting himself. But it wasn’t. There was someone else capable of wounding him. Dean reached up and removed the angel’s hand from his face. 

“You can,” he said.

“I won’t.”

“You always do.”

Despite that coming out more bitter than Dean meant it, Castiel acknowledged his history of destruction with a downward glance. 

“You’re not the only one trying to change,” he said.

No words. Dean could only form tears.

Castiel, unsure what he’d done to make Dean cry, pulled him in close for a tight embrace. He needed the hunter to know that—no matter what—he was safe and loved. He felt Dean’s desperate fingers digging into his back, forcing him to stay.

Dean, still focused on how badly the angel could hurt him, whispered into his shoulder. 

“Please don’t leave…”

Castiel couldn’t understand why Dean thought he would.


	8. Deja Vu

Like Cas, Dean refused to leave. The bunker and its surrounding area were his own personal slice of Heaven, and the longer he stayed there with Cas, the easier it was to push _some_ of his fears and worries to the back of his mind. 

On what he’d forced to be an early autumn day, the two men sat outside the bunker, on a red checkered blanket. As they unpacked food from a picnic basket, Dean eyed a sandwich with suspicion.

“PB&J?” he wondered.

“It was my first real meal when I was human,” Castiel said.

Dean set the sandwich down in front of Cas. “PB&J isn’t a _meal_. It’s barely a snack.”

Castiel avoided looking directly at Dean as he replied. “Anything is a meal if you’re hungry enough.”

Those words resonated with Dean, who’d been starving his entire life. Not for food, though there were definitely times he’d gone without. For something else. He looked at Cas longingly, then sadly. “Cas—”

The angel stopped unpacking grapes to look up.

“I have to say something.” Dean paused for emphasis. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel appeared puzzled. “For what?”

“For not taking care of you when you were human.”

“I understand why—“

Dean cut him off. “No. There’s no excuse. I was an obsessed bastard about keeping Sam safe, and I didn’t even think about you. You never needed me before, and I told myself you could handle it.”

“I did handle it.”

“I know, but you shouldn’t have had to. I’m sorry.”

“I forgave you a long time ago. Were you listening when I confessed to you?” Castiel had tried to absolve Dean. Clearly it hadn’t worked.

“Yeah. I kinda got hung up on the last part,” Dean said. 

“Well, I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.” 

For a brief moment, Dean set his hang-ups aside to reach over and touch the angel’s shoulder. A question had been eating at him, and their conversation had finally made it relevant. 

“Cas—”

Castiel glanced at the hand, just as it left his shoulder. “Dean?”

“What do you think the word ‘love’ means?” 

Dean knew how he felt, but he didn’t understand what Cas felt. He didn’t even understand what Cas _could_ feel.

Castiel explained. “For angels, love is devotion. It’s a willingness to sacrifice ourselves for God. When I say that you are a loving person, I mean you show those traits... not to God, but to everyone around you.” 

“And the other thing?” Dean asked.

“When I said I love you?”

Dean swallowed hard. “...Yeah.” 

“It means my life is immeasurably better for having you in it. It means I would give anything to keep you in it, and that I put you before all others.” Castiel smiled, then let out an amused snort. “It means I’m a terrible angel.”

Dean chuckled. “Well, most angels are dicks, so…”

Castiel didn’t let him joke his way out of the conversation. “What does it mean to you?”

“Love?” Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe—”

He wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say, but he didn’t get the chance. At that moment, the phone in his pocket began vibrating, and he was saved by his generic classic rock ringtone.

There was no practical reason to use phones in Heaven, but many found telepathy awkward and used whatever means with which they were familiar. For Dean, soul-to-soul communication manifested in his cell phone. There were no cell towers, obviously, so they were still communicating telepathically, but this way felt… normal. 

Dean gestured away from the picnic. “I’m gonna…”

“Of course,” Castiel said.

Dean stood and stepped away to answer the phone. 

On the other end was Sam, checking in.

Dean spoke with bravado. “ _Sammy_. You wear yourself out already?”

“No.” Sam chuckled. “Actually, Dean’s here.”

“The other Dean?”

Sam’s annoyance was audible. “Yes, _the other Dean_.”

“It’s still weird—”

“He’s never met his grandparents, so we’re all gonna go over to mom and dad’s place.” Sam paused, not sure how his brother would take his suggestion. “You should come.”

Dean eyed Cas, who was halfway through a PB&J and had managed to drip jelly down the front of his trenchcoat. Completely ridiculous, but devastatingly charming just the same.

By reflex, Dean smiled, then stopped himself, as if Sam would catch him from the other end of the line. 

“I’m good,” Dean said.

“You sure? You don’t want to meet your nephew?”

Dean reassured him. “It’s not that.”

“Then what’s wrong with you?” Sam asked. “When we were alive, you wanted to see mom and dad forever—”

“I wanted to see _mom_.” Sam couldn’t see the dead-eyed stare on Dean’s face, but he could hear the irritation in his brother’s voice.

“—Now you can and you’re just gonna sit around drunk and moping?”

“That’s right,” Dean said. “You know why?”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“Because it’s my Heaven, and it’s what I want to do. What I’m not gonna do is sit there while dad dotes on you and his grandkids and treats me like the piece of shit I am. I don’t need it.”

“You’re not… Okay, so your last visit didn’t go well. I get it. But dad loves you. He’s just… dad.”

“My answer is no. If you could run away a hundred times, I can do it now.”

“Dean—”

Dean hung up. A dick move, sure, but he had eternity to apologize. For now, he wasn’t going anywhere. He had too much to figure out, and being around his family wouldn’t help. 

Just thinking about them hadn’t helped. Dean returned to the picnic blanket more guarded. He spaced himself farther from Cas and clutched a beer bottle.

“So you were saying...?” Castiel asked.

“Forget about it.” Dean took a drink.


	9. Over the Hills and Far Away

It wasn’t the first time Dean convinced Castiel to put on a cowboy hat, but it was the first time they went horseback riding together. In Heaven, the area surrounding the bunker was whatever they wanted it to be. Dean wanted a trail: a dirt path through scenic forest, lined with sprawling oaks. And so it was.

They rode a pair of Appaloosas. Dean’s was modeled after Marlon Brando’s horse in the aptly titled _The Appaloosa_ , while Castiel’s was modeled after an actual horse he once met in 12th century France. There was nothing special about that horse, but he’d enjoyed its company.

Dean rode just ahead of Cas and glanced back over his shoulder every so often as they spoke.

“You know you don’t have to wear that trench coat _all the time_ , right?”

“I’m not sure what else I would wear,” Castiel said.

“Cowboy chic.” Dean tugged at the sides of his ridiculous leather vest, for emphasis.

Castiel glanced down at himself. “I’m wearing the same outfit you are.”

“Yeah, _under the trench coat_. It’s weird.”

“It feels alright to me…”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean rolled his eyes.

To their left, the forest was thick with trees and brush, shaded by its own stature. To their right, the trees were sparse, replaced by fields of flowers on a gentle slope leading to a small lake. Beyond the lake stood snow-capped mountains, hit by the sun at just the right angle to make them glimmer. Both men’s gazes drifted from side to side, absorbing the calming views.

The peaceful ride presented an opportunity for introspection, one that Castiel seized.

“Dean, I’m worried about you.”

Dean didn’t look back. “Don’t be.”

“You’re avoiding Sam. You’re avoiding Bobby. You’re avoiding Mary. They’re all worried about you. They don’t know I’m here. When they ask for me, I don’t go to them because that’s what you told me to do—”

“And I appreciate it,” Dean said over his shoulder.

“What is your plan?” Castiel asked. “We can’t ignore them forever. I don’t want to, and I know you don’t either.”

Dean slowed his horse. “The plan is… I’m not gonna worry about a plan. All of this—” He extended a hand toward their view of distant hills. “—is better than I deserve. I’m just gonna enjoy it til it all comes crashing down.”

“You think that’s going to happen?”

Dean responded with confidence. “Abso-freakin-lutely.”

Castiel frowned. His gaze landed on a patch of roses to his right, varying in color from a dusty pink to blood red. He’d given one to a date once, and it turned out not to be a date at all—just a coworker who needed a babysitter. But one rejection wasn’t a good enough reason not to try it again. He pulled over, dismounted, and manifested scissors in his hands.

Dean kept riding ahead, unaware. He didn’t make it far before he realized that his angel was gone. He glanced back and saw an abandoned horse munching on some brush, with no rider.

“Cas?” Dean wondered. 

Curiosity shifted into fear. Dean leapt from his horse and ran back down the path, in near panic. Horrible things could and did happen in Heaven, and Cas had made a point of how much the other angels hated him. 

“Cas!?”

The angel emerged from behind a tree, confused. “I’m right here, Dean.”

“I thought you were gone. You can’t do that to me. You can’t—” Dean stopped himself, unable to believe and unwilling to show how worried he really was.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere,” Castiel said.

“No offense, Cas, but you always do.”

The angel narrowed his eyes. “Not when you ask me to stay.”

Dean noticed that Cas was hiding his hands behind his back. He tilted his head in suspicion. “What were you even—” 

Castiel pulled a perfectly formed, thornless red rose from behind his back. He outstretched his arm to hand it over.

“—No.” Dean’s face turned nearly as red as the flower. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“Cas, you don’t give a dude flowers. You just don’t.”

Castiel was unfazed. “You deserve nice things, Dean.”

Dean looked down at the ground and shook his head, then looked back up at the earnest angel. Cas hadn’t budged. Part of Dean wanted to extend this standoff, but another part was as flattered as it was flabbergasted. 

In the end, he accepted the rose and carried it for the rest of the ride.


	10. Dancing Days

As Dean became more and more used to Castiel’s presence, he became more and more comfortable. He actually began to believe that the angel might be there for good. One permanent thing. Maybe—just once—it wouldn’t all come crashing down.

Dean knelt before a tattered box on the floor, digging through his record collection.

“Did anyone ever teach you how to dance?” he asked.

“Yes,” Castiel said. He stood behind Dean, watching the scavenger hunt.

Dean raised his brow. “ _Really_?”

“When I lived as Emmanuel, I danced at my wedding.” He paused, then made a coy correction. “I don’t suppose that counts.”

“Well, that wasn’t you, was it?”

“That’s a metaphysical question—”

“Stop.”

Castiel squinted. “Who taught _you_ to dance?”

“The internet,” Dean said. He did not add that he had practiced with a lamp.

“So let me get this straight… I’ve danced before and you haven’t, but you’re going to teach me?”

“Yeah. Because you’re weird, and you probably dance weird.”

Castiel crossed his arms, both amused and irritated. 

“This’ll do.” Dean grabbed a record, stood, and took it to the record player. As he adjusted the needle to where he wanted it, he looked back over his shoulder at Cas. “Lose the trenchcoat.”

Castiel begrudgingly removed it, and was left standing in a suit with no tie.

Dean looked him over and nodded in approval.

Castiel returned his inspection, with judgment. “Flannel?”

Dean shrugged and transformed his clothing into a suit as he approached.

Queen’s “Too Much Love Will Kill You” began to play, and it was a downer.

_I'm just the pieces of the man I used to be..._

“Don’t people typically dance to _happy_ songs?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have too many slow dancing tunes,” Dean said.

Castiel pointed out one of the benefits of Heaven. “You could if you imagined them.”

“ _I like my collection_ ,” Dean huffed. 

Even more than that, he liked the plausible deniability of using his own collection. If he chose from any song that had ever existed, he’d choose a song that made him think of Cas, and then he’d have to explain why. Then there was the distinct possibility that it would end up being a Taylor Swift song. No. That wasn’t happening.

“Now—”

Dean reached his right hand toward Castiel’s left. Their fingers came together with ease, like they were meant to be entwined. The same electricity he’d felt when they were making pie made its way up Dean’s arm. He guided Cas’s other arm to his side, and placed his own arm around the angel’s waist. This he didn’t have to explain. This he could just do.

“Follow my lead,” Dean said.

“I always do.”

Dean intentionally kept his eyes on their arms or feet as he guided Cas. He didn’t know what would happen if he looked into the angel’s eyes while they were doing something as intimate as dancing. Actually, he had a good idea what would happen, and he wouldn’t allow himself to go there. For the first time in forever, he was enjoying himself. Just being with Cas was enough. It didn’t need to become any more complicated. That’s when he would ruin everything. He told himself it was exactly like Cas said: “Happiness isn't in the having. It's in just being.”

They both stumbled a bit, but they soon found a rhythm. While Dean looked at everything but the angel’s eyes—the floor, the wall, his watch—Castiel watched him looking away, curious what was going on in Dean’s mind. He was troubled as ever, but still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester.

“Let’s try something,” Dean said.

“What?”

Dean answered by letting go of Castiel’s waist and raising their interlaced hands above his head. 

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said.

“Twirl, Cas.”

Castiel wobbled a bit in the attempt, but it was still an admirable one. Dean chuckled as he caught him, then pulled him in closer than before. Desire and despair played tug of war in Dean’s mind, and desire won for a change. Their chests touched, their eyes met for the briefest moment, and Dean was done for. Just being with Cas wasn’t enough. The final lyrics kicked in—

_You'd give your life, you'd sell your soul_  
_But here it comes again_  
_Too much love will kill you_  
_In the end_

By the time the song ended, Dean’s lips were on Castiel’s for the first time. They came together softly. The electricity that normally filled the air when Cas appeared now moved between their lips. The warmness Dean felt every time he was around his angel concentrated itself in his mouth. He’d kissed hundreds of people, but none ever hit him like this. 

The record player moved on to “You Don’t Fool Me.” They paid it no attention. Dean moved a hand to Castiel’s cheek, as if he needed to hold on or he’d lose him again. They kissed harder, their tongues colliding in something they’d both wanted for longer than either of them knew. Cas reached for Dean’s shoulder— _the_ shoulder—and grasped tighter than he had since he stole Dean from Hell. 

Their eyes were closed, mostly, but they met briefly and Dean saw that Cas’s were glowing white. He gasped a little, in awe.

For a good while, the flutter in Dean’s chest was a welcome one—a lightness of being, a once in a lifetime moment, something cosmically beautiful. It ebbed and flowed with the movement of their lips. Then the flutter became a heavier and heavier weight. it came crashing down, and Dean went from floating on air to feeling like he could sink through the floor. His stomach clenched. His neck stiffened. He pulled away from Cas, panting.

The angel reached for him. “What’s wrong?”

What was wrong was that Dean had let himself start thinking. “I, uh—”

Dean took a few steps backward and let himself fall onto the sofa. Cas followed and sat next to him, but not close enough to smother the horrified human.

“Dean?”

“I’m sorry.”

There was no disappointment in Castiel’s voice, only concern. “You have nothing to apologize for. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

Dean looked straight ahead, rather than at Cas. “I want to. I do. I just…”

“You can tell me anything,” Castiel said.

“I know I can.” Dean finally faced him. “I know. And I trust you. Believe me, I do. But I try to put the words together and it’s like being impaled on some fucking rebar, which… if you’ve never done it…it sucks.”

Castiel put an arm on Dean’s shoulder. “I’ve guessed that my form is a problem. I can find a new vessel if—”

“No.” Dean gently removed Cas’s arm from his shoulder. “You’re not gonna do that to some poor…” He shook his head. “You aren’t the problem. Don’t ever think you’re the problem.”

“Then…” Castiel trailed off, at a loss.

Dean avoided his gaze. “I hate the way I feel about you. I mean, really hate it.”

“Why?” 

It was such a simple question, without a simple answer. Dean stared at him for a long moment before he finally gave in and spoke. “You remember I told you about my friend Lee?”

“The one you had to kill in that bar?” Castiel asked.

“...Yeah.” Dean swallowed and took a quick breath. “We met when I was fifteen. Went on a bunch of hunts together. Hell, he was practically part of the family for a while there...” 

Dean had never spoken about this to anyone. There was no one in the universe it would be easier to speak it to than Cas, but Dean still paused to secure his resolve. “One time... my dad was on a hunt, so Lee and I went back to dad’s hotel room. I mean, Sam was twelve. I wasn’t gonna bring him back to the room with my little brother in it...”

Dean didn’t know when it happened, but Castiel was holding his hands in support. He looked down at their hands, then back up at the angel’s face.

“Uh… Lee and I hit it off. A lot.” Dean paused to steel himself. “We started making out and, well… Dad came back early to find his son knocking boots with a good ol’ country boy. He… he was furious.” Dean stopped and his eyes lost their focus. 

Castiel had heard enough to understand. “He hurt you.”

Dean exhaled sharply, affirming that. “Yeah. Once Lee was gone, he… I’ve never had a beating like that in my life. Not on any hunt. Not when you were brainwashed by Naomi.” 

Castiel frowned. He considered flying over to the Winchester residence, grabbing John Winchester, and throwing him back into the pit where he belonged. But he knew Dean wouldn’t go for that, so he listened.

Dean could practically see the angel’s thoughts, and he shrugged off the abuse. “I’ve been to Hell, Cas. I can take a beating. The things he said, though, for years…”

Castiel didn’t press him. He simply looked on in sympathy, waiting.

“Look, I know he can’t do anything to me now. I know that. But it messed me up, bad. I buried a part of myself, and it wasn’t a problem. And then I met you, and...it was.” Even in his moment of honesty, Dean couldn’t explain exactly what he felt. “You mean a lot to me, and it brings all that crap back.”

Castiel tried to offer help. “I can take those memories from you, if you want.”

“No. I don’t want an angel lobotomy.” Dean raised his voice in anger at himself. “I just want to not be a broken sack of crap for once. I want to not ruin everything I touch. I...”

Castiel tilted his head, waiting for Dean to finish his thought.

“...I want to be worthy of your time, Cas. I mean, there is no time anymore, but...”

“You are worthy of more than I could ever give you.” Castiel stared deeply into his eyes. “You really have no idea how happy I am just to be here with you.”

“But _I’m_ not happy. I’m trying to be, but I want more. I’m just—”

“You’re not ready. That’s okay.”

“I don’t know if I ever will be,” Dean said. He scoffed at himself and lowered his head, thinking about just how pathetic that seemed. “I’m...stuck. I know I should be able to get over it. I’m too old for freaking daddy issues—”

“Dean.”

Dean looked up. “What?”

“I’m _millions_ of years old and I’m still afraid of my father. I worry _constantly_ about what his power could be doing to Jack. I worry that he’ll find a way to return somehow and end every universe. I don’t share your exact fears, but I understand that not letting them control you… It takes work. When you met me, I was nothing more than a soldier, remember?”

“Yeah. What if I never get over it?”

“Well, we have eternity. I guess we’ll see.” Castiel squeezed Dean’s hands. “In the meantime… Try not to be so hard on yourself, Dean. You don’t owe anyone but yourself anything.”

“Yeah, and what do I owe myself?”

“Kindness.”

Dean made a contemptuous little snort, be he thought about it.


	11. Fool in the Rain

There were plenty of things Dean wanted to discuss with Cas, and in his emotional stuntedness, he came up with the most juvenile method of doing so. They sat on the couch, drinking to the end of another crappy movie, when Dean dropped a question.

“Have you ever played Truth or Dare?”

Castiel responded teasingly. “I was never a human child, so no.”

“Okay, Mr. Watch-the-Bees.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” Castiel said.

“Good.” Dean shifted and sat facing Cas, legs crossed. 

Castiel did the same, and he beat Dean to the punch. “Truth or Dare?”

“No fair,” Dean complained.

Castiel didn’t budge. “Choose one.”

“Truth,” Dean grumbled. He knew Cas well enough to know he wouldn’t force Dean to talk about their situation—whatever their situation was—and he wanted to know what the angel would come up with.

“Why do you like pie so much?” Castiel asked.

“Seriously? _That’s_ your question?” 

“Indulge me.”

Dean resisted the urge to say “because it’s _pie_ ” and thought about it for a moment. “I guess… I never really remembered much about my mom when I was younger, but I remembered she made pie once. I was three or four. It could have been the worst pie in the world, and knowing her now…It probably was. Hell, she probably bought it and pretended she made it. But I remember it being comfort food. And, I don’t know, I never really got much comfort after that so… pie.” Dean scrubbed the wistful look from his face. “Your turn. Truth or Dare?”

Castiel didn’t choose one. “What would comfort look like to you now?”

“There’s no follow-up questions in Truth or Dare, Cas.”

“When have you ever known me to follow rules?”

Dean found that annoying and charming at once. He watched Cas watching him, anticipating an answer, and he felt compelled to give one. “My family. My _real_ family. You and Sam and Jack… Mom. Bobby, Ellen, Jody, Charlie… Everyone.”

“You can have that,” Castiel said.

“No I can’t.” Dean reined in the game. “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Castiel said.

Dean smirked. “Show me your true form.”

“Okay,” Castiel said. “But before I do, I want you to know that I consider this to be my true form. I feel much more myself sitting here with you than I ever have in the past.”

That was sweet, but Dean’s response was a pathetic “Okay.”

Castiel reached out and touched Dean’s arm. They transported outside and the sky around Dean went blindingly bright, as if he stood at the epicenter of a nuclear blast. 

“Cas?” he asked. “You here? ‘Cause all I’m seeing is the nuke scene from T2.”

The response was piercing, high-frequency noise from above. Dean covered his ears and looked up. Castiel was, as he’d once said, the size of a skyscraper, though the Chrysler Building may have been a bit of an exaggeration. Dean could barely make out a figure within the brightness. From what he could gather, Castiel was vaguely human-shaped, but faceless, with wings that seemed to go on for miles. More than two. Four? Six? For a brief flash, he thought he saw hundreds of eyes blinking at once.

It suddenly struck Dean. The enormity of an actual cosmic being—one with this much power, who had existed since creation and had seen stars form and burn out—falling from Heaven and directing its energy into baking and decorating trees with him. Into _loving him_.

All Dean could say was, “Huh.”

The light somehow burned even brighter, and they were back in the Dean Cave. 

Castiel was himself once again, and he didn’t hesitate. “Truth or Dare, Dean.”

Dean, still buzzing from his close encounter of the celestial kind, took a deep breath. 

“Dare,” he said.

“Sing a song for me,” Castiel said.

“What?” Dean wondered. “Why? You’ve heard me sing before.”

“Yes, and I like it.”

Dean smiled. He couldn’t help it. “You gotta get tougher with this game, man. A whole song, though…” He thought of one he knew by heart, and started right into it, “ _Well there's a light in your eye that keeps shining, like a star that can't wait for night…_ ”

Castiel, the enormous cosmic wavelength he was, sat starry eyed and smiling as he listened to the man for whom he’d moved Heaven and Earth.

With every other line, Dean would look down in embarrassment, then back up so he could see Cas. When he’d finished singing, he prompted the angel again. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Castiel said.

Dean looked directly into his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“When did you realize you loved me?” he asked.

“That’s... complicated.”

“You have to answer,” Dean said. “Those are the rules.”

Castiel answered with uncertainty. “I’m still not sure I feel love the way humans do, but it was some time after the Leviathans. When I first laid a hand on your soul in Hell, I felt a deep connection to you. I thought it was just the nature of souls, or perhaps the nature of the journey. Then I felt your brother’s soul, and Bobby’s, and the millions of souls in Purgatory. I touched other angels’ grace, and I met so many people. And I never felt the same way. I realized it was you. That I’d fallen in love with your soul, with you.”

“You met me when I was literally _torturing people_.”

“I know. But there was beauty underneath and it’s only gotten more beautiful with time.”

Dean bit his lip and looked away, embarrassed.

It was Castiel’s turn again. He reached a hand toward Dean and turned the human’s blushing face back toward him. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Dean said.

“What’s your greatest fear, Dean?”

“Jesus,” Dean muttered to himself. “I, uh…”

“I was under the impression you wanted a more difficult question than the one about pie.”

“Yeah. You’re doing it right,” Dean said. “I’m just thinking.” He already knew his answer, but it seemed so damn pathetic. It wasn’t his father. John Winchester couldn’t do a damn thing to him here. But he knew someone else could hurt him, deeply.

Castiel waited patiently.

“Driving you away.” Dean swallowed. “Forever.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that.” 

Dean had more to say. “I mean it. I used to think I was just afraid of being alone, of losing _everyone_. But the last few times you died, I had other people. I had Sam. And all I could think about was getting you back. All I could do was just… sleep and drink and... punch things. And that’s all I was doing here until you showed up. If I lost you here, I don’t know what I’d do. But I know it would be my fault, because…” Dean caught himself vomiting words, and trailed off.

“Because what?” Castiel asked.

“Because I’m angry, and I’m a drunk. I’m hateful. I’m just like my dad, and I drive people away.”

“You can’t drive me away. I’m not a person. But even if I were… that’s not who you are. I told you...”

Dean brushed a tear from his eye and tried to move the game along. “Truth or Dare, Cas.”

“Dean.” Castiel put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not.”

Dean wasn’t having it. “Truth or Dare?”

The angel sighed. “I...guess I’ll go with Truth this time.”

“What’s _your_ biggest fear?” Dean asked.

“Are you supposed to steal questions?” Castiel asked.

Dean mimicked him. “ _Indulge me_.”

“Being unwanted.” Castiel’s face scrunched up. “I’ve never really belonged anywhere, and every time I think I do, I’m wrong. I can’t help but think I’m going to end up being wrong again.”

“I want you here,” Dean said.

“I know you do. No offense, Dean, but you’ve said that before. And then you kicked me out on the street when I was newly human and confused and most needed your help.”

Dean’s stomach dropped. “Yeah… This is suddenly not fun at all.”

“Truth or Dare, Dean.”

“I don’t really want to now.” Dean sniffled.

“Pick one.”

“Dare,” Dean said softly.

“I dare you to forgive yourself.”

Dean scoffed. “What?”

“What you did eats at you. I want you to forgive yourself for it, and for anything you’ve ever done that makes you feel that same way. Because—whether you want to believe it or not—you always did your best.”

Dean shook his head in disgust. “That’s not fair.”

“You have to do it, right? Those are the rules?”

Dean was absolutely infuriated.


	12. The Battle of Evermore

Some time after their Truth or Dare session, Dean and Castiel were sitting in the kitchen over half-finished plates of pancakes when Dean asked a question that wasn’t prompted by a juvenile game. 

"This is gonna sound weird, but—”

“Many of the things you say are strange to me.”

Dean offered a dead-eyed stare. “Oh. Okay.”

Castiel added, “That’s not a negative judgment.”

Dean didn’t care, and he continued. “Have you ever been LARPing?”

“I’m not sure that’s a real word.”

“Oh, it’s real.” Dean grinned. “It’s very real. Charlie just texted me about an event going on right now.” 

“This is one of those fake battles you told me about?”

“Yes. Exactly.” Dean was positively giddy. “I haven’t fought anything in _forever_. You wanna go?”

Castiel smiled at Dean’s enthusiasm, then his expression turned to one of concern. “Are you sure you’re ready to get out and mingle with other souls?”

“Not really. No. But it’s Charlie, and if there’s anyone in Heaven less likely to be weird about… _this_ … I don’t know ‘em.”

Castiel acknowledged that with a slight tilt of his head. “Let’s go, then.”

Dean snapped away the plates and pancakes, then stood. “Just, uh… Ground rules since you’re you and I feel like I need to explain this. There are no real weapons. You fight like you’re trying to have fun, not actually trying to kill someone. Can you do that?”

“I can certainly try.”

Dean thought hard about Charlie, the sister he’d always wanted, and suddenly he and Castiel stood in the loud, nerdy camps of Moondoor. 

“What’s up, bitches?” Charlie, beaming as ever, greeted each of them with a hug. She scanned Cas with wide eyes. “Still hanging onto that vessel, huh?”

“Jimmy Novak’s soul has long since departed it,” Castiel said. 

“You don’t want him to use his true form,” Dean said. “Trust me.”

“I kinda do.” Charlie shrugged, then changed the subject. “Oh, so get this. I invited Sam, and he said he was busy _playing shuffleboard_ with some friends.”

Dean blinked a few times. “Shuffleboard?”

“Yeah. I have never been gladder I died young,” Charlie said.

Castiel gave her a sad look. “Charlie, about your death—”

“Pfft.” She gestured that she was over it. “I snuck away. That’s not on you. Plus... No shuffleboard!” She didn’t hesitate to move on. “So here’s the sitch. The shadow orcs are up to their old tricks, and they’ve taken four followers of the Moon prisoner. We have an alliance with the wood elves, for now, to get them back because we have the Tome of Regret that the wood elves need to revive their dead who fell in the Battle of Yonder with the Warriors of Yesteryear—”

Castiel turned to Dean. “This plot is convoluted.”

“It’s not about the plot,” Dean said.

“It’s _absolutely_ about the plot,” Charlie said.

Dean shook his head. “Not for me.”

“Yeah, yeah. You just want to join the battle. Fine.” She pointed to a wide grass field. “The orcs are thattaway. We’re attacking shortly. You two need costumes.” 

Charlie snapped her fingers, and Dean and Cas became decked out in plate armor. In their hands appeared padded broadswords. 

Castiel’s medieval look stirred something in Dean, who stared at the angel for a moment.

“Are you all right?” Castiel asked.

Dean caught himself noticing how perfectly the plates fell on the angel’s shoulders, and dodged eye contact. “Yeah. Yeah. _Great_. The whole Warrior of God thing... That’s a… good look on you.”

The exchange did not go unnoticed by Charlie, but she simply shook her head and proceeded toward the front lines. “Come on.”

A nerdy little marshal with armor enrobed by an orange safety vest walked out into the middle of the field to explain the rules of engagement. Standard stuff. No hits to the head, neck, or junk. No charging. No spinning. Call out “Hold!” if for some reason the battle needed to pause.

Castiel listened intently, and Dean watched him with the same enthusiasm. This was all so utterly insignificant, but the angel observed like it was the only thing that mattered. Dean became lost in thought, wondering what it was like to see the universe through Cas’s eyes.

“You get all that?” Charlie’s voice snapped him back.

“Oh. Yeah,” Dean lied.

In the distance, a flag waved, and the battle began.

Before they’d stepped even a few paces forward, a barrage of rubber-tipped arrows flew toward them, bouncing off their armor.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked.

“Treachery!” Charlie made her voice as dramatic as she could. “Only elves can wield bows with such accuracy. Ack!”

Three arrows suctioned themselves to her armor. Charlie dropped to the ground.

Another suction cup attached to Dean’s chest. 

“ _Come on_ ,” Dean complained. He dropped his sword and fell to the ground.

“Dean?” Castiel asked.

Dean looked up at him. “I’m dead. You’re gonna have to carry on without me.”

Castiel looked across the field at a large group of armored nerds. “I don’t want to.”

“Come on, man. Avenge me.”

“If you insist.” Castiel smiled and adjusted his armor before storming across the field. The marshal hadn’t said anything about using telekinesis to shirk arrows. Some elves were about to be in a world of pain.

Charlie lay on the ground, half pretending to be dead. She turned toward Dean. “Psst. Hey.”

“What?” Dean whispered back. “We’re dead.”

“No kidding.” She didn’t hesitate. “What’s the deal with you and Castiel?”

Dean pretended not to understand. “What do you mean?”

Charlie glanced around to make sure no one was watching her, then scooted across the ground to get closer. She lay on her side, head leaned on her arm, angling for some good gossip. “I mean.” She tilted her head toward Cas, who was fending off four knights with a foam sword, then back to Dean. “Are you guys...together?”

“What?” Dean asked, like an idiot. “No.”

Charlie’s eyes shifted in disbelief. “You sure?”

Dean sighed. “He told me he loves me—”

“Aww.” She couldn’t help but interrupt. 

Dean spoke sternly. “It’s complicated.”

“Why? You’re dead. _Carpe diem_.” Far too pleased with herself, she improved that statement with a pun. “ _Carpe dickem_.”

“We’re not talking about this,” Dean said.

Charlie put a hand up in surrender. “Okay. Okay. But—”

“ _Charlie_.”

“He’s dreamy. You’re obviously into it. And you’re dead. There’s no world to save. There are zero obligations keeping you two apart...”

“It’s complicated,” Dean repeated.

“Dean, are you in love with Castiel?” Charlie asked.

“Yes,” Dean blurted. “But. I mean… no…”

There it was. This, Dean reminded himself, was why he’d wanted to stay in the bunker in the first place. There, he could control his words. Cas wouldn’t push him on this. Other people presented variables like... this. He silently cursed Charlie's name.

Charlie put a hand to her mouth. “Aww. You’re dead and you’re gay panicking.”

Dean’s face went redder than when he’d been given that rose.

“I don’t know if it’ll help to hear this from me, but it’s okay to let yourself be happy,” Charlie said. “Nothing else really matters here. Heaven and all.”

“Yeah, well… I’ve got time to figure it out,” Dean said.

“How do you know that?” Charlie asked.

Dean stared at her with a stupid expression on his face. “...What?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but a lot of the angels kind of hate your boyfriend.”

“He’s not—”

Charlie ignored his attempt to interrupt. “What if they throw him in the dungeon, _or worse_?”

That was a nice new anxiety to add to the pile. Dean swallowed.

Charlie continued. “Also… Last I checked, Heaven was part of the universe. No one really knows how any of this works. What if the universe goes kaput? What if dark energy is about to eat the whole shebang? What if God dies again? What if we’re seconds from the end of all things? Aren’t you gonna want to spend it with your Sam, Mister Frodo?”

“You know that metaphor doesn’t really work when I have a brother named _Sam_ , right?”

“Shut up,” Charlie said. “You got the point. Nothing’s guaranteed. You could have something good, so have it.”

Charlie looked to where Castiel was the last man standing in a field of fallen LARPers. Dean’s gaze followed hers, but lingered on Cas long after Charlie had turned back to him. He was lost in thought. If she was right, and this could all end any moment, he wouldn’t want to spend his time hemming and hawing and wallowing in self-hatred. He might not have been able to do anything about that last one, but the first two?

“Yeah. Okay.” Dean rose to his feet, his eyes still locked on Cas.

“What are you doing?” Charlie asked. “I didn’t mean _right now_. You’re still dead. The marshal hasn’t called it yet.” She reached for his ankle. “Hey!”

Dean shook her off. 

When Charlie couldn’t get him to stop, she yelled. “Hold!”

A chorus of “Hold!” came from all around.

Dean moved across the field toward the angel, with purpose. 

Castiel was surprised to see him approaching, but smiled. “Dean. I think I won—”

With a crowd of LARPers looking on, Dean put a hand on either side of Castiel’s face and pulled him in for a kiss.

As his lips parted, making way for Dean’s, Castiel tossed his sword to the ground and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist. He felt a soft burst of Dean’s breath on his face, and the angel’s blue eyes once again brightened to white. 

Dean didn’t see that. He was too absorbed in Cas’s lips, using his own to say three words before he could verbalize them. Dean let go of Castiel’s face, and dropped back slightly into the angel’s arms. He watched Cas’s eyes return to blue, in awe.

“Dean—”

“I love you, Cas, okay? I love you.” Dean spoke as if the world was ending, with tears falling from his eyes. “I should have told you on Earth, but I stopped myself. I didn’t say it, and then you were gone...And now you’re here, but I keep stopping myself and... I don’t want to anymore. You’re it for me, okay?”

Castiel was nearly in tears himself as he listened to this clumsy, heartfelt confession.

Dean continued. “I should have told you a thousand times by now, but you’re an actual angel—which is insane, by the way—and I’m just some guy with a GED and a broke-ass brain. I’ve always felt like I’m nothing. But maybe I’m not...I don’t know...Cas, can you help me out here?”

Castiel’s grace burned hot. It was the first time anyone had ever told him they loved him, and it was the only person he wanted to hear it from. “You’re everything to me. I love you, Dean.”

“I love you.” Dean leaned into Castiel’s chest, and muttered through sobs. Now that he’d said it, he couldn’t stop, even as it put his stomach in knots. “I love you, man.”

Castiel kissed Dean’s forehead, then wrapped him into an embrace. They disappeared from the field.

Charlie cancelled her hold with, “Lay on!”

No one was sure how to proceed, since their characters had all technically died.


	13. Houses of the Holy

Sleep had been a luxury on Earth, something Dean could never seem to get enough of. Even when he was a child, he’d made do with four hours in a creaky hotel bed with flat pillows. He had to. He’d complained about it once—he was eight, maybe—and it didn’t end well. 

Then there was the bunker, with its musty memory foam bed. Not the best by objective standards, but the best Dean had ever slept in. He had treasured it, even when he was awakened by nightmares most nights.

In Heaven, Dean could have as much sleep as he wanted, and the nightmares never got him. Dean fluffed his mattress and pillow to his heart’s content and relished it. 

Castiel, of course, couldn’t sleep. When he was human, he never developed a taste for it. Now, he pined for the ability as he lay next to Dean, watching the sleeping hunter’s shallow breaths.

The angel smiled as Dean came to. It was always with a short yawn, then a fluttering of his eyes until they could focus on Castiel’s face.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean said.

“Did you sleep well?” Castiel asked.

“I did. _Again_.” Dean reached a hand to Castiel’s face. “You know I love you?”

“I did know that. Yes.” 

Dean bit his lip. “I’m saying it too much, aren’t I? I don’t have a blueprint for—” 

“Not at all, Dean. I love you too.”

Castiel’s eye twitched as he ignored a very busy angel radio. 

Dean noticed, and he was about to say something when Cas cut him off by kissing his neck, repeatedly, up to his ear. In lieu of words, Dean let out a sharp breath. Cas dragged his teeth across Dean’s earlobe as he moved toward his mouth. Their lips touched, and then their tongues.

They hadn’t gone beyond kissing yet—Dean had way too many hang-ups for that—but the kissing… The kissing was always nice. Dean reached up and grabbed the back of the angel’s neck, pulling him in harder.

_**CLANK. KNOCK.** _

A loud sound came from somewhere inside the bunker. They pulled apart.

“What the hell was that?” Dean wondered. His tone turned accusatory. “ _Cas_?”

“I’ve been here the whole time you were asleep.”

Dean jumped out of bed and transformed his pajamas into jeans and flannel. “Who else can get into the bunker?” 

“No one. Every soul has the ability to shelter itself. No one should be able to come here without you inviting them.”

“ _Should_ ,” Dean repeated. “Great.”

_**CLANK.** _

“Wait here,” Dean said.

Castiel objected. “ _Dean_. I have powers. You don’t.”

“I’m supposed to be here. You’re not.” Dean, already at the bedroom door, put a hand up. “Stay.”

Castiel glowered at him from the bed.

Sounds always echoed in the bunker. At first, Dean thought the noise was coming from Jack’s old room. Then he thought it was the kitchen. Both places were empty, as usual. He stormed down the corridor toward Sam’s room to give that a look—

He rounded a corner and bumped right into another, shorter soul.

Dean stared, wide-eyed. “Bobby?”

“Well, I’ll be damned. You do still exist,” Bobby said. “Rufus and I had a bet goin’.”

Dean wasn’t amused. “How did you get in here?”

“Ash figured out how to hack into anyone’s shelter. Nice place, by the way. I figured I’d come check in. You know, make sure you hadn’t found a way to _die again_.” 

“I’m fine,” Dean said. His tense body language said otherwise.

Bobby looked him in the eyes. “Are you? No one’s seen you around. Maybe Charlie, but she was real tight-lipped about it.”

“Yeah. That’s the idea.” Dean shook his head. “Really, Bobby. I’m good.”

Bobby looked past Dean, surprised. “ _You_.”

Dean turned to find Cas standing in the hallway. He choked back his anger.

“I’ve been tryin’ to call you too, Cas,” Bobby said.

“I know,” Castiel said, with regret.

“Oh. _You know_.” Bobby turned back to Dean. “ _He knows_. What’re you two idjits doin’ here? Let me guess. Tryin’ to find a way out of paradise ‘cause it ain’t what you want.”

A guilty look spread across Dean’s face.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “ _Really_?” 

“No.” Dean shook his head. “We’re not up to anything, Bobby.”

“Then what’re you bein’ so secretive for?”

“I thought you ‘respected my privacy.’” Dean made air quotes around the phrase.

“I do. _To a point_. You wanna ignore me, ignore me. Everybody needs time alone. You start ignorin’ _everyone’s_ calls—ignorin’ _your brother’s_ calls—and I start to wonder. This ain’t healthy, sittin’ around boo-hooin’ in paradise. You should be out there enjoyin’ people’s company, findin’ a soulmate, some—”

“I did.” Dean blurted it out, again. He kicked the floor, annoyed with himself.

“You did what?”

Dean lowered his eyes and stared at the scuff mark on the floor. He’d thought about how this reveal might go with any number of his friends and family, how it might change how his loved ones saw him. Bobby, he’d always thought, would be fine. And if Dean didn’t tell him, Bobby would soon figure it out. It was better to control the situation. 

“I found Cas,” he said softly.

“Huh?” Bobby stared at him for a moment, absorbing that. He tilted his head.

Dean glanced at Cas, then back at Bobby with guilty eyes. 

“Is that all?” Bobby exhaled in relief, then shook his head in amusement. “You should’ve just said so. I thought you were doomin’ yourself to Purgatory or something over here.”

“You don’t care?” Dean asked.

“I ain’t your dad. No, I don’t care who...or _what_...you love. I just want you happy. Enjoy your eldritch horror. Hell, better that than spendin’ a year with a one night stand ‘cuz you’ve got mommy issues.”

Dean shrugged in acknowledgement. “Yeah, I did do that.”

“C’mere.” Bobby roped Dean into a hug.

Castiel watched them with a tilted head. “I’m an eldritch horror?”

Dean pulled away from Bobby. “Yeah, kinda.” 

“You too. C’mon.” Bobby pulled an awkward, stiff Castiel into a hug. 

The angel didn’t budge. 

Bobby released him. “I sure hope you’re more affectionate than that with Dean.”

Dean blushed. “Listen, Bobby. I…” 

Bobby waved a hand in surrender. “I get it. I won’t tell no one. Not my business. You’ve got a lot to navigate. Anyone asks, you’re just fine. You’re on a... spa retreat for the soul.”

“Thank you.”

With his wellness visit complete, Bobby didn’t stay to ask questions. That, he reasoned, could happen later in eternity. For now, Dean needed time to heal.

When it was just the two of them again, Dean turned to Cas with fury in his eyes.

“Cas, what the hell?”

“That went well,” Castiel said.

Dean growled his response. “Yeah. It did.”

Castiel furrowed his brow. “You’re angry it went well?”

“I told you to wait. Why don’t you ever listen?”

“I rebelled against Heaven for you,” Castiel said. “You can’t be surprised I’d disobey an order.”

Dean scowled. “No, I’m not surprised. I’m _pissed_. If Bobby can get in here, anyone can get in here. If anyone can get in here…” He trailed off, not wanting to think about it. His brain didn’t care. It taunted him with the fact that the bunker—the little spot in Heaven he’d claimed for himself—didn’t belong to him at all. It also registered the words Cas had just said to him, in horror. 

The fury left Dean’s eyes, replaced by dread. “I don’t give orders…” 

“Don’t you?” Castiel wondered.

“Tell me I don’t give orders.” Dean was pleading now.

“You do. And I’m free to ignore them.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean turned to walk away.

The angel followed him down the hallway. “ _Dean_.”

Dean ignored him and barreled into the kitchen. He pulled a sixer from the fridge, popped open a bottle, and chugged.

Castiel stared at him from the doorway. “What are you doing?”

In the time it took him to ask that question, Dean had finished. He grabbed another bottle.

“If I’m gonna be my dad, I may as well do the fun part.” Dean chugged.

“The fun part? You mean getting blackout drunk and hurting your loved ones?”

“I’m thinking Purgatory. I’ve got some unfinished business with vampire mimes.”

Castiel walked over to the counter and stood across from Dean. He slumped forward and looked into the hunter’s eyes, heartbroken. “Dean. Stop.”

“Hey, look who’s giving orders now.” Dean pretended to toast. “I told you.”

“You told me what?”

Dean gave a pained smile. “I told you this would all come crashing down.”

Castiel reached out, grabbed Dean’s beer-holding arm, and pressed it to the counter. His eyes flashed white. “Stop.”

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean warned.

“You once asked me why… when things go wrong, it always seems to be my fault.” 

Dean swallowed. “I didn’t mean that.”

The angel’s eyes shifted as he worked through his thoughts, softly but still audible. “I always leave because I’m afraid I’ll ruin things, but…”

Dean’s tone softened. “Cas?”

“You’re trying to drive me away,” Castiel said simply. He released Dean’s arm and stepped around to his side of the counter. “Because it’s easier for you to wallow in self-hatred than it is to admit there are things beyond your control. You did this with your memories of Purgatory. And with everything we went through with Michael and Chuck…Self-determination means more to you than ever.” 

Dean was within inches of his face. “So?” 

“Dean, you do give orders. You are, as you would say, a ‘total control freak.’ And you’ve decided that Heaven is going to spiral into some terrible experience. So much so that you’ll take a pleasant interaction with Bobby and spin it into a disaster. Well, too bad.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “ _Too bad_?”

“I broke Chuck’s narrative, and I can break yours.”

Dean scoffed in disbelief.

Castiel spoke about his greatest flaw like it was an asset. “I mean it. You’ve fallen in love with the most uncontrollable being in the universe, and I will stop anyone who tries to ruin Heaven for you—even if it’s _you_.”

“Yeah? How?”

Castiel grabbed Dean by the flannel, pulled him in close, then shoved him against the kitchen wall. His eyes glowing with passion, righteous fury, or both, he slammed his lips into Dean’s and prodded the hunter’s beer-flavored mouth with his tongue. 

Dean had always imagined his Heaven would involve being slapped around by a woman in a zorro mask, but this was decidedly better. He instinctively moved his hips and pressed into Cas, which served as his first-hand confirmation that angels were not, in fact, junkless. Dean disregarded how ravenous he felt, and pulled back to ease the tension with a joke. 

“You’re gonna kiss anyone who tries to ruin Heaven for me?”

Castiel stared at him, stone-faced. “ _If I have to_.”


	14. Heaven

Contrary to popular belief, Dean loved reading. He just never had time for reading much of anything but lore until now. He and Castiel had started a book club of sorts, but even if Metatron hadn’t bestowed knowledge of a book to Castiel, it took the angel almost no time to read one in its entirety. So he had a habit of interrupting Dean when it was “taking forever” for him to finish something. He strode into the bunker’s library with purpose.

"Have you ever watched the bees?" he asked.

Dean dramatically set down his copy of _Gravity’s Rainbow_ and rose from his chair. He walked over to Cas and waved a hand in front of the angel’s face.

“Bees? Are you off your rocker again?”

“No. I’m not. I’d like it if you watched the bees with me.”

No part of Dean wanted to sit outside watching bees, but every part of him wanted to make Cas happy. And, frankly, the angel had put up with enough of his bullshit that he could tolerate the bee thing. So they left the bunker and went outside, where Castiel had created his own apiary. 

“They’re fascinating creatures,” Castiel said, leading Dean through a field toward them.

“I’ll bet.”

Castiel approached a wooden hive and pulled out a frame. 

Dean stood back cautiously. He didn’t exactly like bugs, and he wasn’t sure whether celestial bees could sting. 

“Look at them.” Castiel gestured to the thousands of bees crawling across the frame. “They each understand their purpose. With an almost inconsequential lifespan, they divide their labor to create a deeply complex society.”

“Complex?” Dean squinted. “They fly around and make honey.”

Castiel shook his head. “Each bee has a different job. Some of them build combs. Some feed their brood. Some protect the others. Some remove their dead.”

When Cas was weird, he was really weird. Dean shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t get it.”

“They don’t remind you of any other flying creatures secure in their purpose?”

“Angels? Okay. I still don’t see where you’re going—”

“They instinctively know their place. I wonder… what would happen if bees were truly free? If they didn’t exist under their own confines?”

Dean shrugged. “I wager there’d be a lot of dead bees.”

“Likely,” Castiel said. “I don’t know the answer. I just like to come here to think. About bees.”

Dean was no melittologist, but he tried to connect the dots and ask about his angel in bee terms. “You think... _bees_... are happy?”

Castiel tilted his head. “They’re bees, Dean. Bees can’t feel happiness.”

“Until a little while ago I didn’t think angels could fall in love,” Dean said.

The angel scoffed. “I think it’s more likely that neither bees nor angels can properly feel anything. They may be better off with a set purpose.”

Dean didn’t agree with that assessment at all. “Maybe if bees were free, they’d learn to love. Maybe that would be their purpose?”

“Perhaps.” Castiel paused. “Perhaps freedom is a length of rope, and love is what keeps you from hanging yourself with it.”

Dean put a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Are you okay? You’re getting a little deep in the bee metaphors. Is this whole thing… not doing it for you?”

“This isn’t about you. I’m very happy with our arrangement.”

“Okay, first off... _arrangement_ makes it sound weirdly dirty. Second, what’s all the bee stuff about then?”

“The angels keep talking about me,” Castiel admitted. “They’re… quite cruel.”

“You can’t tune them out?” Dean asked.

“On Earth I could. Not in Heaven.”

“What are they saying?” Dean asked.

“It varies. Some say I’m so defective I couldn’t have been created by God. Others plot to kill me. The word ‘abomination’ gets thrown around a lot. Some have taken to changing my name to Casbehem.”

Dean held out his palm. “Meaning?”

“Castiel means ‘Shield of God.’ They’re essentially calling me ‘Shield of Beast’ because—”

Dean finished his thought. “Because that’s how they see humans.”

“Specifically you,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, well. Screw those dicks,” Dean said. “You’ll be alright.”

Castiel shook his head. “Do you know what it’s like to have thousands of voices in your head disparaging you?”

“Yes.” Dean didn’t elaborate.

Castiel looked at him sadly. “I hadn’t planned on being with my brothers and sisters again. Not like this.”

“Your plan was to _die_ ,” Dean said. “No offense, but I’m glad it didn’t work.”

“ _After_ that. When Jack resurrected the other angels and me from the Empty, I planned to help rebuild Heaven and then… I intended to ask him to remove my grace and let me live as a human.”

“So you’d live on Earth and die, and come here as a soul.”

“In theory. If I didn’t lead a life deserving of Hell.”

Dean knew people who deserved Hell, and he spoke with confidence. “You wouldn’t have.”

“Either way, the plan is irrelevant. You were here before we’d even finished.”

Dean shrank a little in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for dying. The person I wanted to return to is here, and I’m grateful for that.”

“Then why do you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself?” Dean asked.

“It _is_ difficult. Hearing their voices at all times. Lying next to you, but being unable to rest.” Castiel stared at one bee in particular. “I just want you to understand why I come here to think.”

As Dean considered that, the generic rock ringtone again came from his jacket pocket.

Castiel ignored it and continued staring intently at the bees.

Dean saw the caller ID and answered with sarcasm. “Who’s this?”

“Jerk.” On the other end was Sam, of course.

“Bitch. What’s up?”

“I haven’t heard from you in a while and I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Bobby said you were on a ‘spa retreat,’ which sounds a lot like a lie you’d tell him to say.”

“I’m fine. I can’t exactly die again.”

“Not like that…” 

“Like my _feelings_? Really?” Dean scoffed.

“ _Really_. Are you okay?”

Dean thought about it. His ever-present sense of dread was ever-present as ever. On some level, he was still certain that Heaven would come crumbling down around him. But there was Cas, knelt down on the ground contemplating bees. Dean smiled.

“You know what’s weird?” he said. “I am.”

“You are?” Sam’s voice reflected suspicion. 

“Yeah. Charlie and I went LARPing,” Dean said.

“Is that all?”

Dean spoke softly. “I took your advice and called Cas.”

“ _And_?” Sam smiled on the other end of the line, as if his brother could see him.

“We’ve been hanging out at the bunker. I taught him how to bake a pie.”

Sam snickered. “How did that go?”

“Better than you’d think,” Dean said. “I’m, uh… figuring some things out, Sam.”

His brother pried a little. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not yet.”

Sam accepted that. “So, Dean. I was wondering if you wanted to stop in right now. Eileen and I made a stupidly huge dinner. It’s just us, no mom and dad.” He paused and made a suggestion. “You can bring Cas.”

Dean looked over at his angel, handling a frame full of bees with care. “Actually, we’re a little busy right now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Dean surprised himself with his answer, and immediately felt guilty for prioritizing something above his brother. Again.

Sam didn’t mind. He spoke with sincerity. “I’m actually _really_ glad to hear that.”

Dean felt like he owed an explanation. “I’m not avoiding you, Sam.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Sam said.

“Oh, I _was_.” Dean’s anger and guilt both came through in his voice. “It felt like I waited forever for you to get here. Then you got here and started talking about Eileen and your family…all the things I wanted and could never have… I felt like I was living in your shadow.”

“And now?” Sam asked.

Dean exhaled. “I have more than I thought I did.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“I’ll see you soon. _Really_.”

“Soon. Take care of yourself, Dean.”

“You too.”

Dean walked back to Castiel, knelt next to him, and watched the bees.


	15. The Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next dive deeper into John Winchester's abuses and the number they've done on Dean (including suicide-adjacent thoughts). I don't think anything is particularly graphic, but I'm desensitized. If reading about these things might trouble you, skip ahead to Chapter 17. Context clues will get you through.

The beach. Palm trees, coconuts, little umbrella drinks, feet in the sand. A vacation was something Dean had always wanted but never had. Castiel had never been on one either, unless you counted his time on Earth as a vacation from Heaven. There was an argument to be made for that, but Dean ruled that it did not count.

They could have simply appeared on any of Heaven’s beaches—or generated one in their backyard for that matter—but that lacked the pizzazz of a true beach vacation. Dean loaded the Impala with an umbrella, beach towels, and a cooler full of road food, and they set off.

Baby roared as they bounded down the highway, and Dean was happy to hear her again. This time, she wouldn’t end up parked outside his parents’ house with a shaking, sobbing driver. No, this was what she deserved.

Dean looked over at Cas, in the passenger seat.

“This is what it’s all about,” Dean said.

Castiel understood. “The journey, not the destination?”

“Mmmhmm. Kansas on the radio, wind in our hair—”

“Dean, the windows are rolled up.”

Dean ignored that and continued listing positives. “—You in something other than a trenchcoat.” 

The angel was dressed similarly to Dean, in beach-ready shorts, a plain t-shirt, and sandals. He squinted. “And this is the look you prefer me in?”

“I’m teasing. I like you in everything. If you’re talking about what gets me going, though, it’s the medieval armor. By far.”

In the time it took Dean to blink, Castiel was in his Moondoorian plate armor. 

“ _Dude_.” Dean averted his eyes. “Do you want me to crash this car?”

“It wouldn’t matter,” Castiel said.

“Change back, man. Don’t make me drive horny.”

Castiel changed back into his beach attire. “Better?”

Dean eyed his bare legs. “Yeah, didn’t help.”

He pulled the car over to the side of the road and put it in park. There were nothing but empty fields as far as the eye could see, not that Dean was looking that far. He scooted across Baby’s bench seat and planted his lips on Castiel’s. 

As they made out, Dean’s hand slowly moved from the angel’s shoulder down his firm chest, then drifted to his shorts. Dean unbuttoned them. Overwhelmed by the desire to put Cas in his mouth, Dean pulled away from Castiel’s face and let his head fall to the angel’s lap.

He nearly choked. 

Those damn voices—well, one voice repeating itself—got to him. Again. He withdrew and backed himself over to the driver’s side, his mind shaming him both for trying to blow Cas in the first place, and for not finishing the job. 

Castiel buttoned his shorts and eyed Dean with concern. 

“Is it not frustrating for you to start having sex and never finish?”

“Is it frustrating for you?” Dean asked, avoiding eye contact.

Castiel answered honestly. “Not at all. I don’t have expectations like you do.”

“Good,” Dean said.

“You know you can talk about what’s going through your mind when—”

“ _Could_ ,” Dean said. “Not gonna.”

Castiel repeated something Sam liked to say. “Ignoring trauma doesn’t make you healthy.”

Dean reached toward the console and turned up the radio. 

They didn’t discuss it further. 

***

After a long drive that didn’t need to be long but for authenticity, the two arrived at a heavenly beach. It had all the accoutrements—crashing waves, towering palm trees, squawking seagulls, errant seashells, and touristing souls in centuries’ worth of swimsuit styles. Dean and Cas settled in a semi-secluded area, on a blanket under their beach umbrella.

For the longest while, they simply relaxed. Side by side, they leaned into one another, with Dean keeping one arm draped across the angel’s shoulder. 

“It’s beautiful here,” Castiel said.

“Yeah.”

“You really never went to a beach on Earth?” Castiel asked.

“Oh, I’ve been to beaches. Killed a few vampirates at one. Crab monster at another. Never like this, though. Never to just...go.”

“Well, I—”

Castiel leaned sharply and suddenly forward. His face scrunched as he tried to tune out the voices in his head. He let out a soft groan.

Dean moved in front of Cas and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. 

“It’s getting worse,” he said.

“It is,” Castiel said. “But I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t—”

“You do realize the absurdity of apologizing for dying, right? I told you I don’t blame you.”

Dean scoffed. “Well... I do.”

Castiel pulled Dean’s arms down from his shoulders and held them, low. 

“Dean, not everything is your—”

“ _This is_ , okay?” 

Dean broke away and crossed his arms. Every bit of suffering Cas had endured thanks to the angels was his fault, and the guilt of that overwhelmed him into a confession—

“I let it happen.”

“What are you talking about?” Castiel asked.

Dean took a deep breath. “In that barn with the vampires. I saw the rebar, and I knew the vamp saw it. I just… let it happen. You and Jack were gone, and Sam had all this stuff to look forward to with Eileen. And I didn’t. I didn’t see a future. I just… didn’t care what happened.”

“Dean—”

Dean punched the sand. “I should have known you would figure something out. You _always_ come back. I could have kept fighting, and you and I could have really lived, and you wouldn’t be stuck with angels in your outfield.”

“That’s a lot of work to blame yourself.” Castiel tried a thought experiment. “Would you accept it if I told you it was my fault?”

“No. Why the hell would it be your fault?”

“I could have come to Earth and communicated my intentions to you before rebuilding Heaven with Jack. Put your mind at ease.”

“I get it, though. The Heaven stuff was important.”

“So was you trying to work through your feelings.”

Dean raised his voice. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Castiel raised his voice in turn. “ _I know_. It was no one’s fault. I want you to grasp that things can go wrong and it not be anyone’s fault. That’s life. All we can do is work with what’s already happened and try to do better.”

Dean shook his head. “You are _infuriatingly_ good to me.”

“Well, I am an angel. It’s called grace for a reason.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but let his guard down.

One by one, the beach cleared of people. Night came, and eventually Dean and Castiel were the only ones left. They lay on their blanket, looking up at the stars. Entire galaxies were visible, and their ever-changing positions were unlike anything on Earth—the universe’s best view.

“Have you ever been out there?” Dean asked.

“You mean on another planet?” Castiel wondered. “No. I’ve been to Heaven, Hell, Earth, Purgatory, and the Empty.” 

Dean considered bragging about his stint in Avalon, realm of the fairies, but ultimately went a different direction. “Man, I gotta visit the Empty to catch ‘em all.”

“I don’t recommend it.”

“I’m joking,” Dean said. “But do you ever think about what’s out there?”

“Well, supposedly God created everything and I’ve seen it all, as far as life goes. There was never any reason to visit the parts of the universe with nothing in them.”

“You really think there’s nothing there, though?”

Castiel thought for a moment. “I did before I actually met God… Chuck. Now I like to believe there’s more. We know there are alternate universes, after all. And I...”

“What?” Dean asked.

“I like to think there’s something out there that can surprise Jack. He deserves that. I can’t imagine the loneliness of knowing everything...”

“You really haven’t heard from him, have you?”

Castiel shook his head. “No. He left me alone here as soon as you arrived.”

“You think he knew what would happen with... us?”

“I imagine so.” Castiel sighed. “I’m sure he’s still repairing the multiverse. I just wish I knew for sure.”

“Maybe the other Castiels are helping him out right now,” Dean said.

“Chuck said I’m the only Castiel who rebelled. I somehow doubt the others are reacting well to a nephilim seizing Heaven.”

Dean got lost in thought. “I wonder if the other Castiels know the other Deans.”

Castiel turned away from the stars and toward his human. “That’s a nice thought. But if the other Castiels didn’t rebel, they probably don’t have you. I do believe you’re the one who brought that out of me.”

“Well, Chuck always was a liar. They could all be rebellious little shits.” 

Castiel smiled slightly.

Dean rolled away from the stars to meet his gaze. “But if he was telling the truth, I’m even luckier than I thought.”

They found themselves on their sides, facing each other. Like in the car, Dean couldn’t stop himself from leaning in to kiss Cas. Driven in equal parts by instinct and by a desire to prove himself, he jammed his tongue into the angel’s mouth and slid a hand down his swim trunks. No hesitation.

In no time, they were naked. Castiel rolled on top of Dean and began worshipping every inch of his body with tongue flicks and kisses.

The hair on Dean’s arms stood up straight. Dean knew what he wanted, and he wasn’t going to give himself time to overthink and ruin it. He imagined lube into existence, raised his hips, and looked right into the angel’s eyes.

“I want this,” Dean said.

“Are you sure?” Castiel asked. 

Dean answered that by grabbing the angel and pulling him inside. Dean hadn’t had this in far too long, and Cas hadn’t had it ever. They each took a quick moment to breathe. Then they moved in unison, their breath and hips alike synchronizing. 

Dean clawed at every bit of the angel he could reach, wanting nothing more than to feel every bit of him. He told himself he could do this, like it was some final obstacle to fixing himself. One act to wash away decades’ worth of trauma and repression.

It didn’t work that way. It could never work that way. Pleasure gave way to pain, and fear, and Dean froze. 

Castiel was attuned to this, and he stopped. “Dean?”

“I can’t…”

Castiel moved off of Dean, to his side. 

Dean rolled away, unable to face him.

“ _Dean_.” Castiel apparated to Dean’s other side, fully clothed. He pulled a blanket over Dean to provide some small comfort. 

Dean muttered softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” 

“I thought…” Dean trailed off.

“You thought you could fight your way through, like you do everything.”

Dean repeated himself. “I can’t…” 

Castiel put a hand on his shoulder, and thought for a moment. “When you were young and you were caught with Lee… It was worse than you let on, wasn’t it?”

Dean didn’t reply in words, but his eyes answered yes. He needed Cas to understand, but he couldn’t talk about it. He reached for the angel’s hand and pulled it to his forehead, begging him to use angelic cheat mode.

“Look,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded. 

Inside Dean’s mind, Castiel took a brief trip to El Paso, 1995. Drunken screaming. Pain. Then a decade of the hunter’s life rolled by in quick bursts of disgust and beratement. Castiel absorbed all of the terrible things John Winchester had said and done to his oldest son. 

It was over in a flash, and the angel returned to the beach full of righteous fury. He stood, his eyes glowing with white hot anger. Bolts of electricity hit the sand and water, and static filled the air. Soon the entire area glowed, as if Castiel’s true form were seeping out of his body.

Dean sat up, concerned. “Cas?”

Though he was otherworldly, Castiel was usually so soft. Moments like this reminded Dean of the angel’s sheer, terrifying power. 

Castiel spoke, his voice thick with disgust. “I admitted that man into Heaven. He was supposed to be in Hell, and I convinced Jack to bend the rules. I did it for you and Sam and Mary. I thought—”

Dean’s face went dead serious. “Cas, don’t do anything stupid.”

“I already did. I’m going to rectify it.”

With that, Castiel disappeared, and the area was still. Dean was alone, again. He knew where his angel had gone, and it was a place he didn’t want to follow.


	16. Daddy Lessons

John and Mary Winchester awoke to something like lightning striking all around their home at once. Every light inside lit up, then exploded into sparks and glass. Dishes that had been left on the counter fell to the ground and shattered. Picture frames went crooked as the walls holding them shifted and shook.

The couple ran down their vibrating stairs to find a glowing, furious angel floating over the foyer floor—one Mary recognized in an instant.

“Castiel?” she asked.

Castiel spoke directly and softly to her. “You should return to bed.”

“That’s him?” John wondered. He looked at the angel with hatred. “Who the hell do you think you are barging in here—”

Castiel gestured with his hand, pulling John across the room to him. “I’m the one who’s going to throw you back into perdition.”

Castiel had felt young Dean’s pain and fear, and he felt it needed to be returned. John was already dead, of course. Cas couldn’t kill him. But he could batter his soul until it begged to be returned to Hell where it belonged. 

He grabbed John by the throat, and strangled him as hard as he could without destroying his soul’s form. Still holding him by the neck, Castiel slammed John into a wall. 

“You don’t belong here,” Castiel growled. His eyes were fully white, devoid of anything.

This wasn’t the angel Mary knew. She rushed toward them, trying to get him to stop. “Castiel!” 

Castiel sent her to the other side of the room with a gesture of his hand, and set her down gently on the floor. She brought herself to her knees, bounded to a chest in the corner of the room, and began searching for what she wanted. A weapon. One she’d gone through great lengths to acquire.

Castiel, meanwhile, continued bludgeoning John with his fists. The worst pain he was inflicting couldn’t be seen: his grace, pulling and tearing at John’s soul—flaying pieces from it and incinerating them with sheer energy. John was suffering, and he emitted sounds of pain so guttural they didn’t sound human. 

Mary stood with an angel blade, and threatened him. “Stop it. Or else.”

“You’re in Heaven,” Castiel said. “I’m an angel.”

“And I’m a soul,” Mary said. Smart enough to recognize that she was longer beholden to human physics, she disappeared into thin air and reappeared behind Castiel, jabbing the angel blade into his stomach. She knew Cas, and she didn’t want to kill him. But she had to stop him and figure out what was going on. She had to protect her damaged little family.

And Castiel had to protect his. Slightly annoyed, he reached behind his back, pulled out the blade, and tossed it to the floor. His wound shrieked and emitted a burst of glowing light. He ignored it to continue pummeling John, whose face was so smashed and covered in blood that it had become unrecognizable. 

Just outside the front door, Dean stood clenching his fists, willing himself to go inside. The light emitted by an injured angel was unmistakable, and it was the final push he needed.

Dean burst in through the front door, shouting “Cas!” 

He eyed the angel’s glowing wound, then Mary, reaching down to retrieve the angel blade. 

“ _Mom_. Everyone just stop.”

John spit out a few teeth and sneered. “Your angel friend is trying to send me to Hell.”

“Yeah. I know,” Dean said.

Mary squinted. “You know?” 

“Cas, come here,” Dean said.

Castiel eyed John with a scowl, but obliged, dropping him to the floor as hard as he could.

“ _Come here_?” John mocked. “Did you forget you’re supposed to kill monsters?”

When Cas was in range, Dean grabbed the angel’s arm and pulled him close. He spoke softly, almost at a whisper. “Don’t leave me like that. If something happened to you…” He trailed off.

Castiel dimmed, and his eyes returned to blue. “I told you if anyone ruined Heaven for you…” 

“You’d make out with them?” Dean forced a nervous chuckle.

Castiel moved in close and put a hand on his shoulder. He spoke so that only Dean could hear him. “You don’t need to put on a front—”

“Yeah I do.” Dean only had so many coping mechanisms, and humor was as good as any.

Mary noticed the tenderness from the previously rampaging angel. She repeated herself, louder. “You knew Cas was coming here, Dean?”

“Yeah.” Dean held Castiel’s hand.

John glowered at the pair. “Oh. I get it.”

“I don’t,” Mary said, perplexed.

“Dean’s the angel’s bitchboy,” John sneered.

Mary immediately scolded him. “ _John_.”

Castiel could feel Dean’s hand shaking, so he spoke on his behalf. “Ask your husband what he did to your son.”

“Cas, let’s just go,” Dean said, tugging him toward the door. Avoidance was another fine coping mechanism, in his mind. 

“No. Wait.” Mary turned to John. “What did you do?”

“You’re gonna listen to an _angel_?” John wondered.

Mary stood resolute. “ _I am_. What did you do?”

“ _Cas_.” Dean’s poker face was fading. He wasn’t sure whether he was going to start crying, start screaming, or start punching something, and he didn’t want to find out. He just wanted peace.

Castiel knew he’d never have it if they didn’t deal with this. He tightened his grip on Dean’s hand. “I’ve got you, Dean.”

“What did you do?” Mary asked John again.

John crossed his arms. “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

Dean couldn’t hold his tongue. He loudly blurted, “I deserved to be _happy_.” 

He couldn’t believe he’d said it, or that he believed it.

“There’s more important things than being _happy_ ,” John said, hitting a mocking tone.

“Like what? Being strong? Getting revenge? That’s your bullshit,” Dean said. “Not mine. That’s not who I am. That’s never been who I am.”

“I raised you to be a survivor,” John said.

“I died younger than you did, you son of a bitch.” Dean had finally started speaking, and he couldn’t stop. “I died because you made me carry the whole world on my shoulders, so I could never stop hunting, never stop chasing cases that _you_ failed to solve, never stop blaming myself for anything I couldn’t fix. And now that I’m dead, I finally have a chance to live and I can’t because you taught me—if I fell in love with the wrong person, you’d kill me. Everything I hate about myself comes from you.”

John shook his head. “I should have hit you harder.”

“ _Harder_?” Dean’s voice nearly broke.

“I’ve heard the stories. You’re friends with vampires. With demons. _Angels_. You didn’t learn a damn thing about hunting or life.”

Mary’s voice lowered. “John. What did you do to my son?”

“What he’s made about? Probably the time I caught him getting fucked by some little flamer, so I knocked some sense into him.”

“Knocked some…?” Dean’s voice rose into a scream. “You broke seven of my ribs and shoved a broom handle down my throat. I told Sam a werewolf attacked me and _he believed me_.”

Mary looked into Dean’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Dean let go of his angel’s hand and walked over to John, still crumpled on the floor. He looked down at his bloodied father and sneered. “ _You_ should be sorry. I was _fifteen_. I was a _kid_. And for years, you never missed a chance to get in some dig at me, to make sure I knew I was nothing. You. You should be sorry. But you’re not.”

Blood dripped from John’s mouth as he spoke. “You wanna hit me, Dean? Hit me.”

“No. I don’t.” Dean knelt down and looked into John’s eyes. “I’m an angry, drunk sack of crap, but I’m not like you. I don’t beat the shit out of people I’m supposed to care about.”

Dean stood up and walked to the door.

Mary looked to Castiel. “Get him out of here.”

Castiel, in turn, looked to Dean. 

John made a last ditch effort to save himself, and true to form it came out as a demand, rather than a plea. “You’re not gonna let family burn in Hell.”

“You’re not my family,” Dean said. Even though he meant it, he couldn’t watch.

Castiel gripped John’s arm, and they both disappeared.

With the room otherwise empty, Mary went to Dean and wrapped her arms around him. Dean accepted her hug, but put no effort into returning it.

Mary took a step back. “I know I’m not the mother you deserved, but I never wanted—”

“You never wanted me to be a hunter. I know. I’ve heard it. Too late.”

Mary shook her head. “I was going to say I never wanted anything but for you to be happy. I hope it’s not too late for that.”

Dean took a deep breath. “You know, I resented you most of my life. I mean, I loved you and I missed you. But you got to be dead. You got to be free. Now it turns out death doesn’t change anything.”

“It does if you want it to. You’re free now.”

“I’m not. I spent two thirds of my life under that man. That doesn’t just go away.”

“I’ve been living with him. I know. The man I married—the man who should have been your father—died when I did. He was there in the old Heaven. I’ve been trying to bring him back, but...”

As Mary tried to blame herself for not single-handedly fixing something, Dean recognized himself in his mother. He reciprocated her hug, fiercely. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

Her voice broke, and she pulled back. “It does. When we were alive… All those times I spoke about missing John and—”

“You didn’t know.”

“But you tried to tell me. When you first got here. You wanted to…” She trailed off. Like her son, she’d never be able to forgive herself.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Dean asked.

Mary squinted. “Don’t comfort me when I’m trying to comfort you.”

That caused Dean to break into hard, honest laughter. 

“Nothing about this is funny,” Mary said.

“No, it’s not. It’s... life.”


	17. Gallows Pole

Back on Earth, when Amara resurrected Mary, Dean had lashed out at his mother for what he saw as her abandoning her family. Now the two of them had sent John to Hell, and Mary did the same thing she’d done back then: she ran away to figure things out. This time, Dean didn’t blame her for needing time alone. He couldn’t. 

Dean also knew that Sam needed to hear what happened before someone else tried to check in with John and ended up spreading the news. Mary was out of the picture, so it fell on him.

He knocked on the door of an adorable, cream-colored farmhouse with a wraparound porch.

Eileen answered the door with a startled face.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” she said.

Dean signed “sorry,” to Eileen’s surprise.

She simultaneously signed and spoke. “You’re learning?”

Dean signed “not good,” then spoke. “I’ve got all the time in the world. It’d be rude not to.”

Eileen smiled.

Dean tried to delay the impending conversation with small talk. “This is a, uh… nice house you have here.”

With a look of amused suspicion on her face, Eileen signed “thank you.” 

“Sam’s out back,” she said.

“And what makes you think I’m here to see him?” Dean smiled.

Eileen tilted her head and offered a sharp look. “Seriously?”

Dean incorrectly signed his reply as he said it. “Yeah. You got me. Thanks.”

Eileen shook her head. “You’re welcome.”

Dean took a deep breath and headed around the side of the house. He found his brother tending to a row of petunias. There were so many rows of flowers. Too many. Dean didn’t have much room to tease, considering the apiary, but he made a mental note to do so later anyway. That’s what brothers were for, after all.

Sam looked up and began removing his gloves. “Dean?”

“You’re _gardening_?”

“Yeah. I have for a while now.” Sam dropped the gloves and stood to walk toward his brother. “What’s wrong? Where’s Cas?”

Dean wondered if he was that obviously attached. He shrugged, and jabbed at his brother. “Good to see you too, Sammy. Nice hug.”

“ _Dean_. You showed up completely unannounced, and…it’s been a while, but I know your ‘something’s messed up’ face.”

“Try… something’s totally fucked,” Dean said.

Sam’s face scrunched. “What is it?”

“You play shuffleboard, for one.”

“ _Dean_.”

Dean bit his lip for a brief moment, then let it out. “Dad’s in Hell.”

“What? No he’s not. I just saw him and mom a few… well, a bit ago.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Trust me on this one. I watched Cas take him there.”

In an instant, Sam’s heavenly zen dropped away and he was once again Sam Winchester, hunter. “ _What_? Did the angels brainwash him again? We need to come up with a plan. We gotta get dad out of there. We gotta fix Cas—” 

Dean should have been worried, or fearful. Instead, his face didn’t budge from stoicism. 

Sam noticed that Dean didn’t share his sense of urgency. “—Or not?”

Dean took another deep breath. 

“There’s nothing wrong with Cas,” he said.

“He sent dad to Hell,” Sam said.

“Yeah.” Dean braced for a very angry brother. “Mom and I sort of… let him.”

Sam was angry, but not at his brother. For Dean to turn his back on family, something horrible must have happened. His face softened slightly. “What did he do this time?”

Hell talk was sadly typical conversation for the brothers. The next part wasn’t.

“Uh… Let me preface this by saying Cas and I are sort of…together.”

“Okay,” Sam said, breezing past it. 

Dean blinked a few times. “Okay? I’ve been dragging this around for a decade, and the best you’ve got is ‘okay’? I’m not saying you need to throw me a parade, but...” 

“You kind of buried it in a more serious conversation, Dean.” Sam moved right along. “I’m happy for you. Really. I’m guessing dad wasn’t?”

“Yeah, he wasn’t. But it’s more about… This could never be Heaven for me as long as he was here. I’ve been terrified that he’d find out and—”

“And what?”

“You remember when I was fifteen and I got attacked by that werewolf?”

“Yeah. You were lucky to be alive.”

Dean exhaled sharply. “Yeah.” 

“That wasn’t a werewolf… It was dad.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. 

Sam pieced the story together. “And Lee never came around again because—”

“Yeah. It wasn’t the only time he did something like that to me… I just… I always told you it was the hunt. I could never leave dad, so it was easier to keep all that from you…”

“He brainwashed you into hiding his mistakes for him.”

Dean nodded, uneasy. “But I kept thinking about things he said over the years—I mean, I’m still thinking about them—and then I started thinking about mom, stuck with him forever, listening to...”

“Dean, you don’t have to make this about mom or anyone else for it to matter. What he did to you is enough.”

“What he _did_ isn’t the worst part. The worst is… he didn’t regret it. At all. If he could have just been happy for me. If he could have just… acted like he loved me, for once. If he could have apologized—”

“It wouldn’t make it okay,” Sam said.

“No, but I would have forgiven him,” Dean said. “And I wouldn’t be here feeling like shit for sending my own father to Hell.”

Sam shook his head at both of those statements. “I always knew you protected me and took the brunt of dad’s abuse. I didn’t know it was that bad. If I had...”

Dean snorted. “What?”

“Well, _for one_ , I wouldn’t have tried to get you to visit them.” Sam’s brow furrowed. “I wanted to cut dad some slack because I know I messed up sometimes with Dean… Then I got a little carried away with the grandkids and…”

“Don’t apologize,” Dean said. “There’s no reason my bullshit would be on your mind. You’re ancient. You’re like...a hundred years out from dad’s death. You play _shuffleboard_.”

Sam sighed. “I’m never telling Charlie anything ever again.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Sam—”

“What?”

Dean had the eyes of someone barely keeping himself together. He looked straight through his brother as he spoke.

“I don’t feel good about this. At all.”

“Neither do I,” Sam said. “But you mean a hell of a lot more to me than dad does. And he did sell his soul to a demon, so going to Hell isn’t exactly out of pocket...”

Dean pointed out an unfortunate fact. “I sold mine too.”

“Well, maybe dad should have gotten himself an angel boyfriend.”

Dean forced a small smile that quickly turned pained. “Hell, though…”

Sam looked into his brother’s eyes. “Hell’s not as bad as what you do to yourself, Dean.”

“Thank you, Doctor Phil.”

“I’m serious. You can’t be happy if dad’s here, and you can’t be happy knowing he’s there. It doesn’t matter if he’s in Hell or Heaven’s dungeons or Purgatory or anywhere. It’s not your responsibility, and you have to let it go, or there’s always going to be something stopping you from having what you deserve.”

Dean’s mind replayed Cas, Charlie, Bobby, Mary, and now Sam all telling him he deserved good things. It replayed him telling his father the same. He tried hard to believe it again.

“You’re really fine with this?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sam said. “I don’t like it, but I don’t have to like it. Besides, Rowena’s in charge. It’s not like Hell’s as bad as it was when you or I went there. He's not in the cage.”

“It’s still _Hell_.”

Sam shook his head, trying yet again to come up with a way to get through to his brother. After a moment, he took a different angle. 

“Do you trust Cas?” he asked.

“What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”

“Then trust him on this?”

“Don’t do that,” Dean warned.

“Do you trust me?”

“Obviously,” Dean said, annoyed.

Sam pressed onward. “Do you trust yourself?”

“Hell no.”

“Then why do you believe yourself that you should feel like shit, and not me and Cas when we say you shouldn’t?”

“Because.”

“Just because?” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. Because.” 

Dean could feel his anger bubbling again—unwelcome, but present as ever.

Sam, meanwhile, had an idea.


	18. Savage

The idea was to show Dean how many people cared about him. Sam put some calls out into the universe and very few souls turned down the invite. At the Roadhouse, almost everyone Dean had ever befriended showed up for a raucous gathering. They didn’t make a big show of who it was for. Dean would have hated that. Their presence was enough.

At one table, Eileen was destroying Linda Tran and Victor Henriksen in a game of poker. At another, the reunited Ghostfacers were playing a highly alienating game that they themselves had invented. Charlie hovered over them, openly critiquing the game’s rules.

Loud cursing came from the corner where Bobby and Rufus stood playing pool. Ash provided color commentary as Jody and Donna looked on, eating cake. 

Claire, meanwhile, was busy hitting on Jo at the bar. 

Since he was friends with everyone who could pull some strings, Garth had gotten a reprieve from Purgatory. He and Ellen stood near the pool table, talking to Dean.

“I was talking to Sam and he said there’s this theme park...”

Dean blinked a few times. “You mean _the other Sam_.”

“Well, yeah,” Garth said. “Why would I be talking about _your_ brother and not _my_ son?”

“You know this is the reason they make books that are _filled with baby names_.”

“Anyway, he and Castiel both said they have the best funnel cakes in Heaven.”

At the mention of Garth’s other son’s name, Dean dramatically put a palm to his forehead.

Ellen turned to Dean. “Speaking of, where’s your angel?”

Dean blinked. “My what?” 

“The other Cas. The one you’re basically married to?”

“How—”

“The gossip flows just fine here.” Ellen took a drink.

“How does Heaven have a _rumor mill_?” Dean asked.

For some reason, his eyes met Donna’s. 

She gulped down a bite of cake and objected. “Hey! It wasn’t me. Though I did have you pegged about the time you came to visit my cabin and I caughtcha ogling my cowboy posters.”

Dean froze at the realization that everyone in the Roadhouse knew.

There was a flapping sound, and Ellen looked past Dean. “The angels, genius. You think you’re the only one being tailed by feathers?”

Dean unfroze at the realization that no one cared. 

He turned to find Cas. “Where have you been?”

Castiel spoke matter-of-factly. “In Hell.”

“Well, apparently we missed our own coming out party…” Dean blinked as he registered the angel’s words. “Wait… Why did you go back to Hell?”

“When I took your father there, I realized I couldn’t hear the angels in Hell. I was enjoying the reprieve.” He stopped, then added, “Rowena said to say hello.”

Bobby overheard that. He stepped toward Dean and didn’t mince words. 

“You sent your old man to _Hell_?”

“I… Kind of. Yeah.” Dean braced himself.

“Good.”

“Good?” Dean wondered. “Bobby, you’ve been to Hell.”

“It’s where monsters belong.”

“I don’t disagree with him,” Ellen said.

Bobby half-shrugged. “You go to Hell, you have a few orgies, you become a demon. Then you either don’t care that you’re in Hell or you pop up on Earth, get ganked, go to the Empty and sleep forever. Could be worse.”

“My dad could do a lot of damage as a demon,” Dean said.

“Well, let’s hope those hunters Sam and Eileen trained up are good at their jobs, then.”

He knew they would be, but Dean still didn’t like that answer. Everyone else, it seemed, was casual about what he’d done. He wished he could be. He wished he didn’t give a shit what happened to John Winchester. But John had raised him in a way that made that impossible. 

That night, Dean drank like he hadn’t since he first reunited with Cas.

Someone even drunker than Dean turned the Roadhouse into a karaoke bar, and if there was one thing an intoxicated hunter couldn’t pass up it was karaoke. 

On stage, Rufus finished up Aretha’s “I Say a Little Prayer,” to raucous applause.

Sam and Cas were mid-conversation when Dean stumbled toward them.

“He seems like he’s doing okay, all things considered,” Sam said.

Castiel shook his head. “That’s why I’m worried—”

“We’re not doing worried.” Dean grabbed Cas by the trenchcoat and tugged him toward the microphone. Out of nowhere, a cowboy hat appeared on Dean’s head as he slurred his words. “You ever sang a duet? I haven’t since I was a demon and...you’re a lot cuter than Crowley.” 

Castiel’s eyes went wide. “Dean, no.”

“Yes.” Dean nodded enthusiastically. 

The angel could have easily escaped. Instead, he put up just enough resistance to let Dean know he strongly disliked the idea.

The ever-growing Roadhouse crowd, on the other hand, loved the idea of Castiel—the immensely powerful, perpetually squinching Angel of the Lord—dueting with a drunk cowboy. They cheered the pair onto the stage. 

“I don’t like this.” Castiel pursed his lips.

“Tell you what. You pick the song,” Dean said.

Angels didn’t easily suffer embarrassment, but Castiel still aimed to get himself out of this. It was undignified, like when he’d been forced to team up with a cartoon dog. He whispered a song title into Dean’s ear—one that would either end the whole endeavor or force Dean to admit his love for Taylor Swift in front of everyone he knew.

The plan backfired. Dean was too drunk to have any shame. 

He smirked. “I’ll do you a favor and take the girl part.”

Dean thought about Taylor Swift, and jumped right into it.

_I wanna be your endgame..._

For a few pop-filled minutes, Dean Winchester was unencumbered by grief, doubt, and shame. If he weren’t dead, Dean could have been a professional singer. He hammed it up for the crowd, leaving the people who knew him stunned and those who didn’t thrilled. 

Taking Taylor’s part wasn’t much of a favor. It left Cas with the rap portions of the song, and he stood tense and awkward as he spoke his way through Ed Sheeran. Dean faced him, mouthing along to the words and encouraging him with a smile. Cas couldn’t help but smile back, even as a small part of him wanted to commit a smiting.

Dean reclaimed the spotlight, and basked in it. He left no inch of the stage untraversed as he gave the performance everything he had.

Then, one line broke him in a way no Taylor Swift song should have been able. 

_And I can't let you go, your handprint's on my soul_

It was Godzilla and Mothra all over again. Dean’s mind traveled to when he first met Cas, and then focused on where it happened. Hell. There was no getting it out of his thoughts. He maintained his happy face and finished the song, but he needed to get out of the bar and fast.

Dean didn’t linger in the applause. He hurried off the stage, and Castiel followed close behind. 

A small body blocked their path.

“You two are gross,” Claire said.

Dean answered with a sarcastic and hurried “Thanks.”

“Like, in a good way.”

Both men hugged her, and Dean excused himself. He needed out. Now.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

Castiel’s brow furrowed. He continued conversing with Claire, but kept a suspicious eye on Dean as he walked out the front door.

From a tight corner of the Roadhouse porch, Dean cursed Taylor Swift’s name. He remembered being strung up and tortured by Alastair. He remembered torturing others. Now he tortured himself, his mind recalling the handful of good memories he had of his father and telling him that he was the worst son in the world. No matter what anyone said, he was supposed to protect his family.

He had to do something.


	19. Hold Up

Still on the Roadhouse porch, Dean drank his way through a number of scenarios.

Option One: Listen to his brother and his angel. Accept that John was supposed to go to Hell and that an error had been corrected. He knew it was what he should do, but this option involved not holding onto shame and guilt. It seemed impossible.

Option Two: Have his father removed from Hell and put back in Heaven, ruining his and Mary’s afterlives for all eternity. Not great. Not an option at all, really.

Option Three: Have John removed from Hell and put… elsewhere. Dean tried to convince himself that Purgatory wasn’t so bad, but he knew it was a lie. Heaven’s dungeons? Eternal solitary confinement? That may as well have been Hell. 

Option Four: Angel lobotomy. This was a cheat option that might leave him drooling on the floor, but he could ask Cas to remove John from his memories. It worked with Lisa and Ben, after all. Then again, that had been one year. This would be forty. Dean didn’t know who he’d even be if his father hadn’t left him spectacularly fucked in the head. Would he still have Cas? Would he even know Zepp? He perished the thought.

All of these options sucked, and he’d at least grown enough to know that. 

Out of ideas, Dean knelt down on the porch and prayed softly. 

“I don’t know if you’re listening, Jack… But I need help, and you sort of… know everything. I know it’s not fair to put this on you. It wasn’t fair to put being God on you in the first place. But if you’re listening, and you can get here…”

A flapping sound and Castiel’s voice interrupted him. 

“Dean?”

The angel had followed him outside. Of course he had.

“Are you okay?” Castiel asked.

Dean’s words came out angry. “I told you I’d be right back.” 

“I know.”

Dean gestured outward. “Then why are you here?”

“You _also_ told me not to leave.”

Dean couldn’t stop himself. “Well, I’m telling you now. Go.”

“No.”

“What?”

“If we don’t talk about this, you’re going to do something stupid. Because—”

“Because that’s what I do. Right.”

Castiel corrected him. “Because _you care_. Even when there’s no reason you should. Even when there are countless reasons you shouldn’t. You care what happens to everyone. That’s not a flaw. It’s why I love you. But what is a flaw is thinking you need to _save_ everyone.”

“I can’t just sit here.”

“You can. That’s the point.”

“I can’t. I’m responsible for—”

Castiel moved in close to his face. “You don’t _have_ any responsibilities now.”

“ _I have to_. That’s who I am. I took care of Sam. I’m taking care of you. I gotta take care of him.”

“You see me as an obligation?” Castiel’s face fell.

“You dragged me out of Hell. Of course I’m obligated to you.”

Castiel took a step back. “Then let me unburden you.”

The air around Dean lost its energy. He heard the flapping of wings, but spoke as if his angel were still there. “Cas, I didn’t mean—”

There was no reply.

“Cas?” Dean looked around. “ _Great_.”

Dean didn’t bother to take the Impala. He thought about the bunker and he was there, standing in its vast entrance, alone.

“ _Cas_?” 

Dean repeated the call a few times, to no end. 

“Yeah, okay.”

Dean kicked the nearest chair, the start to an explosion of self-directed rage. 

His mind reminded him that he would always drive the people he loved away. He moved to a nearby bookcase and toppled it, sending texts sailing across the floor. It wasn’t cathartic. That didn’t stop him from finding the next bookcase and doing the same. Another chair. Another bottle. It was all pointless.

In Dean’s mind, flashes of his childhood went by. Every time his father had destroyed a hotel room because his sons disobeyed him. Every time he’d drank too much and hit one of them. It was nearly always Dean. Dean had made sure of it. 

Dean imagined himself as his father in those memories. He saw himself yelling at Jack, telling him he wasn’t family. Everything he hated about himself was still there. He’d hurt Cas. Again. Cas, who’d told Dean that his greatest fear was being unwanted. Dean had told him he was a burden. He began to cry, even as he continued his wave of destruction.

Cas dragging his father to Hell hadn’t gotten rid of John’s influence. Shitty life lessons rattled around in Dean’s brain. _“Don’t get close to anyone. It won’t end well.”_ Lectures from a monster. _“People like Lee are weak. You don’t get to be.”_ One after another. _“It doesn’t matter what you want. Take care of your brother.”_ He didn’t believe them, but there they were, forming the foundation of his self. _“Quit fucking crying, Dean.”_

A different voice broke in, that of the angel who always returned to him. _“You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.”_ Over and over in Dean's mind, Castiel told him that he loved him. _“I cared about the whole world because of you.”_

Dean lifted a lamp from a table, ready to smash it like he had everything else. But he observed the wreckage he’d been taught to make and stopped. He didn’t want splintered chairs strewn across the floor. He didn’t want broken glass under his feet. He didn’t want the life John had raised him for. 

What Dean wanted—what he really wanted—was his angel. Not to take care of because he was some familial obligation, but for himself. To have. To love.

If John was going to keep getting in the way of that, he could stay in Hell. 

This story would only end with Dean miserable and alone if he let the past dictate it, and he wouldn’t. He refused. He stared at the lamp for a moment, then returned it to its place. With a thought, he returned the rest of the room to the way it had been. Then Dean walked over to the table, calmly pulled out a chair, and dropped onto it.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“Cas. I’m sorry. Please come home.”


	20. End of Time

Dean heard a distant flutter of wings, then a loud crash. 

Castiel landed in the middle of the room, face down, partially embedded in the flooring. He pulled himself out, rolled onto his side, and pressed at his temples with both hands. 

“Cas?” Dean leapt from the chair and sprinted over. 

“I’m fine.” The angel, still on the floor, sat up with a pained expression on his face. “I had trouble focusing my way back here through all of the chatter.”

Dean knelt down next to him. “I’m sorry. Back there—”

“I know. I heard you—”

Dean cut him off. “ _Too bad_. I’m gonna tell you.”

Castiel responded with a signature head tilt and squint.

Dean seated himself on the floor and took Castiel’s hands.

“I’m bad at Heaven,” he said. “I’ve only ever done things for other people. Even if I know what I want, I never let myself have it. I make everything a mission. You remember when I spent a year with Lisa and Ben… It wasn’t me being happy. It was me pretending to be happy because I told Sam I would.” Dean swallowed. “I need you to know that’s not what this is.”

Dean pulled at Castiel’s hands, bringing him closer.

“I love you. Not because I have to. Not because I owe you. Because you’re you. Because you’re weird and you’re cute and you make the worst jokes I’ve ever heard. Because I love the way your brain works. You make a better person than most people. You’re kind. I mean, you gave me a damn flower. You know how insane that is?” Dean chuckled a bit. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Castiel said the words and meant them, but his face didn’t match them. It scrunched in pain.

Dean eyed him with concern. “Angels again?”

Castiel nodded.

Dean stood, pulling Cas to his feet as well. 

“How many of those feathery asshats are there?” he asked.

“Millions. Jack resurrected all of them. It was... necessary.”

“Well, don’t they know he doesn’t want them being dicks?”

Castiel spoke simply. “Free will.”

Dean guided Cas onto a chair. “Tell me how I can help.”

“You can’t.” The angels were overwhelming Castiel, and it showed.

Dean knelt next to the chair and looked into the angel’s reddening eyes. 

“There has to be something,” he said.

“There’s not.”

“I’ll go to Hell with you if I have to,” Dean said.

Castiel offered a slight smile. “That won’t be necessary.”

He jerked suddenly to the side and fell off the chair. Dean caught him and dropped to the floor, keeping his arms wrapped around him. The angel rocked back and forth slightly, digging his fingers into the sides of his head all the while. 

“Cas? Cas?” Dean’s voice rose with each repetition. “ _Cas_?”

Castiel didn’t respond, but another angel did. 

Naomi, harsh as ever, stepped toward them. 

“I can make it stop, Castiel,” she said.

Castiel growled something that sounded vaguely like her name.

Dean pulled him in closer, as if he could do anything to protect one angel from another.

“Make it stop then,” he demanded.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but you’re not involved in this conversation.” 

Naomi’s face became hyper-focused for a moment, lost in concentration as she communicated to the other angels. It returned to normal as Castiel removed his hands from his face and let his body relax. Dean helped him to his feet again.

Castiel confronted his tormentor. “I only want to be left alone. I have no intention of raising armies or interfering in any way.”

“You interfere by _existing_. By sitting around here in this bunker doing nothing useful.”

“He doesn’t need to be _useful_ ,” Dean said. “He’s not some tool.”

Naomi ignored the human. “Like it or not, Castiel, you are...influential. Others see you choosing a human and... well, we’re hemorrhaging angels. Next thing you know, we’ll be overwhelmed with nephilim. That’s not going to end well for anyone.”

Castiel scowled. “We raised a nephilim. _Lucifer’s_. And he turned out just fine. In fact, you should listen to him.”

“No. We’re free to do as we please— _thanks to you_ —and many of us want to restore order. Our father’s order. Our real father. His rules.”

“Why?” Castiel asked.

“You should know better than anyone that angels aren’t equipped to write their own path. We want God’s. We need it. Do you know how many angels are suffering right now? Do you care?”

“Of course I care,” Castiel said.

“Then show them. Be an example.”

“No.”

“Castiel.” Naomi eyed Dean. “He’s not special. None of them are.”

“They all are.”

Naomi sighed. “Do you know how many times you’ve ‘fallen in love’ with one of them? You don’t, because every single time we were able to end it. _I_ was able to end it. Your ‘son’ may have removed the tools we usually use to get the job done, but... I’ll end it again.”

On Naomi’s direction, angel radio blasted him again. Every angel at Naomi’s command screamed into his mind. He was worthless. Useless. An abomination. He’d ruined Heaven. He’d ruined their lives. He ruined everything. They screamed it and screamed it.

“I don’t like doing it this way,” Naomi said.

Dean stormed toward her. “Stop it.”

With a simple wave of her hand, Naomi sent him flying backwards onto the floor. He landed gently.

“That all you’ve got?” Dean asked.

“Angels can’t harm souls that belong in Heaven,” Naomi said. “Believe me, it would be a lot easier to convince Castiel if I could hurt you.”

A bright voice came from behind Naomi, instantly recognizable. 

“You’re rude.”

Naomi turned to see Jack. She frowned.

Jack looked toward his fathers and raised his hand in a cheery, awkward wave. 

“Hi, guys.”

“Jack?” Dean wondered.

“I wanted to get here sooner, but there’s a lot to take care of.” He looked at Naomi. “Like you.”

Naomi sneered. “You don’t have any authority here, nephilim.”

“I do have power, though.” Jack snapped his fingers, and she disappeared.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Did you just—”

“I put her in the dungeon. You didn’t think I’d…” Jack’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke with assurance. “I wouldn’t.”

“You really took your time getting here,” Dean said.

“ _Dean_.” With what little ability he had to focus, Castiel defended Jack.

“Sorry. Like I said, there’s a lot to fix. And the angels will not stop talking.” Jack stared at Castiel, and snapped his fingers again. “There. That should be better.” 

Castiel glanced around the room, as if he were expecting to hear something. 

“There’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to turn angel radio off, right?” Jack wondered. “That seems like a free will thing.”

Castiel steadied himself. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But you’re not the one who prayed for me.” He turned to Dean. “I put your father in the Empty.”

Dean blinked. “That’s not painful, right?”

“It’s nothing,” Jack said.

“Yeah. That’s what he deserves.”

Castiel didn’t care about John. He cared about his son. He scanned their new god for signs that anything might be wrong. “Jack... how are you?”

“I’m good. If I can be honest, I didn’t think there’d be so much dungeoning.”

“How much are we talking?” Dean asked.

“Well… I’m trying to let the angels have free will. Most of them just want to stay here and help souls, which is great. We need that. Some of them want to go live on Earth and that’s fine. But some of them keep trying to start wars and enforce strange rules. One of them tried to smite someone for eating a shrimp. I can’t let them do that, can I? Free will doesn’t mean no consequences, right?”

“I think you’re right,” Castiel said.

“Don’t look at me. That’s above my pay grade,” Dean said.

“This is hard.” Jack frowned. “I hope the dungeon gives them time to think. I don’t want to leave them there forever. I want them to be happy.”

Hearing that Jack was as kind as ever softened Dean’s demeanor. He stepped toward him. “You know you’re welcome here any time, right? You don’t have to wait for one of us to pray.”

Jack’s eyes lit up. “You think we can have another movie night?”

“If Chuck could be a D-list author and God at the same time, you can be our kid.”

Dean pulled Jack into a hug. When he let go, Castiel did the same.

“We love you,” Castiel said.

“I love you both. I have to go, though. I have like a million more angels to deal with.” He waved. “Have some great sex.”

“Wait—” Castiel started.

Jack was already gone.

Dean sighed. “We raised a weird one.”

“Well, we are weird,” Castiel said.

“Yeah. We are.” Dean looked Cas over. “You sure you’re good? No angels in your airwaves?”

Castiel smiled. “I’m good.”

“So, uh… You wanna take Jack’s advice…?”

“About sex?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah…”

Castiel put on his bad joke face. “Dean, he’s three years old.”

Dean let out an exaggerated, fake laugh, then wiped all expression from his face.

“I love it when you’re not funny," he said.

“That’s always—” 

Dean interrupted with a heavy sigh.

“—As for sex...If that’s something you’re ready for, yes. Absolutely. But if you’re pushing yourself because you’ve set expectations and you think you have something to prove… You don't. There’s nothing you _have_ to do.”

“You got me.” Dean shook his head briefly, then put on a smirk. “But just so you know, I’m gonna rock your world some day.”

Castiel pointed out a fact. “There are no days.”

Dean sighed again and loved every moment of it.

“So what do you want to do now?” he asked.

“Well, we never finished that game of Sorry…”

“Okay. But after that, I’m calling Charlie and Kevin and we’re doing _Settlers of Catan_.”


	21. Bring It On Home

There were no days, but each one was better than the last. Game nights, movie nights, road trips across Heaven. Infinite time with infinite family. 

When he was alive, Dean had pictured one particular moment that never came: a family dinner. A celebration of conquering every damn monster that ever came their way. A toast to beating God at his own damn game. Now the moment was his.

He’d rearranged a table in the bunker to seat six. On one side, he sat next to Cas. Across from them sat Sam and Eileen. At either head of the table sat Mary and Jack. There would be more gatherings, with more family and friends, but following the last few years of his life, he needed this one in particular.

Spread out in front of them was a picturesque turkey dinner, with all the accoutrements. Anyone could create a perfect meal in Heaven, but Dean had really _made_ it (with Cas’s help, of course). 

“This looks great,” Mary said.

“It actually does,” Sam agreed.

“Don’t act surprised,” Dean said. He raised a bottle, to toast. “Four dead hunters, one fruity angel, and God Junior. Team Free Will 3.0. We did it, and we’re here.”

Bottles clanked all around, and everyone began eating.

Everyone but Castiel, whose eyes scanned Dean’s face. “One fruity angel?”

“Claire told me it’s a term of endearment,” Dean said.

The angel responded with nothing more than a head tilt.

“Fine.” Dean rolled his eyes. “One _devastatingly handsome_ angel.”

Sam’s face scrunched. “Dude. I’m eating.”

“Don’t hate crime me, Sam.”

Sam set his fork down and stared at his brother. “Do you even know what a hate crime is?”

“Do tell,” Eileen said.

Dean did not. He shrugged, and they resumed eating.

Around the table, rolls were passed and polite conversation was exchanged. Dean never stopped smiling. 

When everyone was done eating, Jack looked at Dean and Cas and blurted a thought out of the blue. 

“You should have a wedding,” he said.

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “What?”

“I’ve never been in a wedding,” Jack said.

Sam snickered. “You _should_ have a wedding. You can honeymoon in Purgatory again.”

Dean pointed an accusing finger at him. “Hate crime.”

Mary wouldn’t let the topic go. “You should. I wasn’t there for Sam and Eileen’s.”

“No one was,” Sam said.

Eileen clarified. “We eloped.”

“Double wedding!” Jack exclaimed, as if he were the first to think of the idea.

Dean brushed it off. “I’m too pretty. I’d steal the spotlight.”

“Like you did with Taylor Swift?” Sam scoffed. “Sure.”

Dean feigned offense. “I was amazing.” He looked at Cas. “ _We_ were amazing.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas warned.

“What?” Dean wondered.

Castiel spoke in a serious voice. “In millions of years, do you know what the worst moment of my life was?” 

Dean grimaced, not sure what to expect.

“When you forced me to sing Ed Sheeran.” 

There were chuckles around the table.

“I wish I could have seen that,” Mary said.

“No you don’t,” Sam said.

“I’m glad I couldn’t hear it,” Eileen said. “It hurt enough to watch.”

“Okay,” Dean groused. “The crowd loved it.”

Sam squinted. “They were drunk. _You_ were drunk.”

“And I’ll be drunk again,” Dean said.

“I wanna get drunk,” Jack said.

“No,” said several voices at once.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mary added.

“But you guys get to do things that are bad ideas,” Jack said.

Dean shrugged. “Kid’s got a point there.”

Sam leaned forward and put his hand to his chin. “Actually…”

“What?” Castiel wondered.

Sam looked toward Jack. “I bet we could work that out.”

“What?” Dean blinked a few times.

“Jack’s power is everywhere, right? In everything?” Sam asked.

“Right,” Mary said.

“So the universe would be fine if he himself didn’t have it for a bit. If there were something we could hold his power in for just a little while…” 

Castiel chimed in, in disbelief. “You want to hold Jack’s power in an artifact so he can get drunk without affecting the universe?”

Eileen pointed out a downside. “Everyone would come for it.”

Sam nodded. “Right. But what if you created a new universe that didn’t have anyone who’d try to steal it…” 

“Drunk World?” Jack asked.

“I wanna go to Drunk World,” Dean said.

“Me too,” Eileen signed and said.

Sam eyed the bunker’s many bookshelves. “Are those the same as they were on Earth?”

“As far as I know,” Dean said.

“Let’s hit the lore then.” 

Sam could barely contain his glee as he scooted his chair backward and rose to his feet. Around the table, Eileen, Mary, Dean, and Jack did the same.

Castiel shook his head. “Really?”

Mary waved him toward a bookshelf. “Come on.”

With their happy reunion at its conclusion, Team Free Will moved on to doing what they did best: getting into and—hopefully—out of trouble. After all, what was free will without a little risk?

Dean reseated himself with a spell book, planted a kiss on Castiel’s cheek, and took a look around the room at the life he’d always wanted. It was his, and no one could take it away.


End file.
